


Unspoken

by AmandaRex



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe, Angst, F/M, Heterosexual Sex, Mystery, Romance, The Quidditch Pitch: Erotic Couplings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-02-25
Updated: 2007-03-20
Packaged: 2018-10-26 10:49:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 19
Words: 33,691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10785297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AmandaRex/pseuds/AmandaRex
Summary: Hermione is working on a new magical skill that makes her very valuable to the Order in the fight against Voldemort. Who will give her to strength to follow it through? And when it puts her in harm's way, what feelings will it reveal in Ron? Pairing: Ron/Hermione. AU Trio's sixth year at Hogwarts.





	1. Even Prefects Break the Rules

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Annie, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Quidditch Pitch](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Quidditch_Pitch), which went offline in 2015 when the hosting expired, at a time I was not able to renew it. I contacted Open Doors, hoping to preserve the archive using an old backup, and began importing these works as an Open Doors-approved project in April 2017. Open Doors e-mailed all authors about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [The Quidditch Pitch collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thequidditchpitch/profile).

**Chapter 1: Even Prefects Break the Rules**

Sleepless in his bed, Ron realized he still had no explanation for what had happened earlier that night. The whole thing was like being knocked over in the corridor by another student only to have them hurry away without an explanation or even a mumbled apology, and he was left standing there, wondering what it was all about.

His neck was uncomfortable, as if his pillow was suddenly not up to the task of supporting him. He sighed and rolled to his side, though he was sure easy, restful sleep was nowhere in his near future.

With closed eyes, he played the scene back in his mind. Not to try to figure it out—he knew that was impossible—but to make sure he wouldn't forget anything.

They'd been patrolling near McGonagall's classroom, and they weren't even supposed to have been together. They were meant to split up, but there were some nights, even at Hogwarts, when it seemed no one had decided to break any rules. Those nights were so boring that he and Hermione had made an agreement to walk together through the empty halls, _as long as we keep moving quickly, and cover the same ground we would have separately_ , he heard in Hermione's voice. Two pairs of eyes allowed them to patrol faster, Hermione had explained to him when he'd tried to tease her about not following the instructions that had been given to them.

Not that Ron cared. He liked the opportunity to whisper nonsense to her and then watch her try to hide her smile, or just steal looks at her as she peered down corridors or behind suits of armor. He began to do this the first time they patrolled together, and he was getting rather good at it. He always watched her for any sign she was about to turn toward him again, so he could look down at the floor and then smile secretly to himself when she scolded him for spending more time watching his shoes than being vigilant.

Well, he was careful until tonight, anyway. It had happened just before they were due to turn back toward Gryffindor Tower. She'd stopped to tie her shoe, and he'd lost himself in studying the way the lines of her chin curved gently back to disappear behind her hair, and how her neck had lengthened and become delicate and almost regal since they first met. She straightened, looked him in the eyes, and said his name twice before he snapped out of it.

He stammered out an apology, before realizing that an apology was as good as a confession. Why else would he apologize for gawking at her unless he really was doing it? He couldn't play it off as anything else, so he did the only thing he could think of; he started walking again, as if nothing had happened. He'd prayed that Hermione wouldn't pursue it further.

Unbelievably, she hadn't. She merely caught up to him, and then began to match his stride as they walked in silence. Usually, her curiosity knew no bounds, and he'd been sure he was as good as dead. He wondered whether she was keeping her silence out of anger or pity when she did it—the thing.

He felt her hand brush against his, and he thought for a moment that it had been a mistake. It wasn't until her fingers closed around his that he became sure that it wasn't. Her eyes remained fixed in the direction of the staircase to their dormitory as they walked.

He was scared to do anything at first, afraid she'd change her mind. He counted ten breaths. In, and out, over and over again. Then he did it. He moved his hand, taking hers more firmly, covering it with his own more completely. He brushed his fingertips against the delicate skin covering the back of her hand as he did, and drew in a slow, deep breath as he noticed how soft her hand felt in his. Nimble. Delicate. Yet—strong.

What must his hand have felt like to her? His habit of slopping potion ingredients on himself and hours of Quidditch practice in the cold, dry air couldn't have helped. He was glad that hadn't occurred to him then, or he'd have felt even more like an oaf than he already had.

Just before they found themselves at the portrait hole, Hermione pulled away from him. Her hand left his and too quickly, she was more than an arm's reach away from him. His hand reflexively searched for hers, though he suspected she wouldn't let him take it again.

She spoke the password far enough away that she didn't have to pause at the opening before clambering through.

"Good night, Ron," she said, without turning to look at him before she ascended the staircase leading to her room. She didn't sound angry, or even confused, but she had sounded, somehow, different.

"I suppose I'll—I mean we'll—well, see you tomorrow, Hermione," he'd called, lamely, toward the back of her retreating head.

He wasn't sure what he'd done, what had happened, whether it had been good or bad, or whether he'd disappointed her. In the end, he had only his bed hangings to keep him company, and the sounds of gentle snores from three boys who apparently didn't have a puzzle like this to keep them from sleep.

 

* * *

 

It must have been a dream, he thought, as he, Harry, and Hermione walked together down to breakfast the next morning. Hermione was acting as if nothing had happened.

Perhaps he was making too much of it. It could just have been her way of telling him she forgave him for staring at her. No wonder she hadn't said anything. She was probably afraid he was on the verge of ruining their friendship over a momentary surrender to...well, what exactly?

That was the problem. He didn't know what had really happened or what it all meant. He certainly couldn't explain why he'd been acting the way he had. When find yourself staring at your best friend at every opportunity, or looking forward to seeing her after one of the few classes you don't share, how do you put things right again? He just couldn't feel differently about her than he did about Harry. It was too complicated.

Over the past five years, he'd done the same thing every time he hadn't understood something; he'd asked Hermione to help him. He certainly couldn't do that this time. She hadn't said a word about it, and that either meant that she regretted it, or worse, that she regarded it as inconsequential.

He tried to turn his thoughts to something else, and groaned when he remembered how utterly unprepared for Herbology he was.

"You all right, Ron?" Harry asked him, breaking the silence.

For a moment, he imagined turning to Harry and saying, _I suppose I would be all right, if only I'd gotten a wink of sleep last night. 'Course, it's hard to drift off when all you can think about is Hermione_.

"Oh, just dreading Herbology. I haven't read the chapter Sprout assigned us, and I haven't got a clue what she'll be covering today."

Ron wondered if Hermione would sigh and roll her eyes, or chastise him for not taking his education seriously. That would have felt a lot more normal than walking in silence, wondering if she thought anything out of the ordinary had happened at all.

They seemed to walk forever before he heard a rush of exasperated breath escape from her mouth, just as she nudged his arm with the books she was carrying.

"We've got nearly an hour between Transfiguration and Herbology, Ron. We can spend it in the library to get you caught up if you're willing to miss lunch for it."

He put what he hoped was a neutrally appreciative look on his face as he breathed, "Thanks, Hermione."

Why was he looking forward to going to the library this afternoon with a girl he'd seen nearly every day for years? When exactly had he started to feel this way?

"Do you want to come too, Harry?" she asked, and Ron felt his heart fall. He studied Harry carefully, willing him to have somewhere else, anywhere else, to be that afternoon.

"No," Harry frowned. "I can't. I have a meeting with McGonagall right after our lesson. She promised me last year I'd become an Auror if it was the last thing she did, and I guess she really meant it. She wants to meet once a month to make sure I'm staying on track."

This earned Harry a curt nod from Hermione, which Ron found himself just a little jealous of.

"Well done, Harry. It's good to see one of you taking your studies seriously." She gave Ron a pointed look.

Oh, who was he kidding? Why should he be jealous of Harry when it was so much more fun to annoy her?

"Hermione..." he began, stalling and looking for an excuse other than, _I didn't read the chapter because I spent the night thinking about you, and all you did was hold my hand, after all. You're right. I'm a complete prat. I'm hopeless without you to help me, but I probably won't be able to concentrate for being near you this afternoon in the library. And what were we talking about again?_

"I've got a hundred things I could be doing otherwise if you'd rather not—"

"I'll be there, Hermione," he said, sounding less appreciative than he should have. He tried again, softening his voice and reminding himself it was not her fault he'd suddenly lost his mind over her. "I'm sorry. I do need your help."


	2. Pomarius Marmoreus

He could feel her, though Harry sat between them at the desk. He'd have to lean forward if he wanted to see her, but he could still tell what she was doing. There were interruptions in the scratching sound of her quill against the parchment, but not many. He realized he'd read so many of her notes that he could almost tell what she was writing. She had a way of putting things, of making little side-notes and adding little reminders to herself to reread one book or another. It was like shorthand only Hermione, Harry and he could read.

He looked down at his own notes and realized they trailed off after the first five minutes of class. He listened again to the scratching of Hermione's quill and started to feel a little guilty. He glanced to his right to see that Harry's notes, while nowhere near as detailed as Hermione's, still filled at least half a meter's worth of parchment.

He struggled to clear his mind and pay attention to the rest of the lesson. He was half-listening, at least, and he knew they were covering general theories behind transfiguring small objects into much larger objects. He remembered McGonagall talking about exactly how much concentration and focus it would take, but he had no idea what the specifics were. Transfiguration had been so much easier when McGonagall gave them the specific spell for turning one object into another. Now that they were in their sixth year, they were learning how to create those spells themselves.

Concentration and focus. He may as well just ask McGonagall to fail him now.

"Miss Granger, could you assist me with a demonstration?"

Ron watched as Hermione put down her quill and immediately rose to her feet in response to McGonagall's request. It was one of the things he admired about her. If their professor had chosen him, or Harry, or probably any of the other students surrounding them, they would still be stammering and playing for time. It wasn't in Hermione to even consider acting that way, with her pursed lips and her wand tightly clutched in her hand. She was nervous, but it hadn't stopped her a bit.

She was amazing.

Until recently, he often wondered why the Sorting Hat had not put her in Ravenclaw instead of Gryffindor. She was clearly brilliant, more so than any Ravenclaw he could name. Once they became friends, he was just glad she wasn't separated away from them into another house. It was only after years of being her best friend and watching her in all the scrapes they'd found themselves in that he'd realized exactly how right the Sorting Hat had been.

Yes, she was brilliant, but she was even braver than she was smart.

"Now, Miss Granger. Stand here, in front of my desk, and focus on the pomegranate sitting on the floor. Do not do anything right away. I just want you to stare at it until you think you can get a clear picture of it in your mind when you shut your eyes." McGonagall's head turned toward a desk at the back of the classroom and her voice turned shrill. "Silence, Miss Patil, Miss Brown! I'll take twenty points from Gryffindor if you can't manage to keep quiet long enough for one lesson which, I assure you, will figure prominently in your work for the rest of the year and in your end of term tests!"

Ron and Harry, along with the rest of the class, glanced at the desk Parvarti and Lavender shared, only to see them glowing red with embarrassment. Lavender hurriedly stuffed a piece of parchment into the pocket of her robes, apparently concerned that McGonagall would confiscate it otherwise. It was probably a list of the boys they wanted to date or some other such rubbish, Ron thought.

Ron and the rest of the class turned their attention back to the front, where Hermione still stood, her gaze unwavering on the small, round fruit in front of her.

"If we can now return to the matter at hand," McGonagall said, glancing from Parvarti and Lavender back to Hermione. "Try closing your eyes now."

Hermione complied, squeezing her eyes shut and swaying a little without her vision to steady her.

"Relax, Miss Granger, and focus. Picture both items in your head-the fruit you are transfiguring and the statue you will be creating as a result. Picture them, as clearly as you can, and when the words form in your mind, speak them. Don't forget the wand motion I showed you at the beginning of the lesson."

Ron watched her, saw the furrow disappear from her forehead as she relaxed. Her chest rose and fell evenly, and Ron could almost see a perfect marble statue standing in front of her already.

Suddenly, her breath hitched. Her shoulders tensed, pulling up toward her ears. Had she waited too long? Had she stood there, concentrating until she second-guessed herself? His stomach knotted with secondhand nervousness. For most of them, there was no shame in missing a complicated spell like this on the first try. Hermione wasn't most of them, however. These things mattered to her. If she opened her eyes to anything less than a perfect marble figure, she would probably spend every spare moment of the next two months perfecting the spell and driving Harry and himself mad in the process.

"Pomarius Marmoreus!" Her wand swished upward in concert with the first word of her spell, and sped downward on the second. A short burst of shimmering white light tinged with pink at the edges formed at the tip of her wand and rocketed into the pomegranate in front of her. It began to change as Hermione opened her eyes to watch. It grew a bit as it began to change colors, its rough, red skin washing into a smooth grayish-white. Pink veins appeared in the surface of the marble as it began to change to a rectangular shape. Just as the class began to gasp at the transformation taking place before them, it stopped.

Ron tore his eyes away from the tiny beginnings of the statue to look at Hermione and found her bowing her head to the floor, her face clearly showing her disappointment.

"That-that was a very credible first try, Miss Granger," McGonagall told her in a voice that betrayed some surprise at the outcome of the spell. "Did you have a clear picture of the statue in your mind before you began?"

"I thought I did," Hermione breathed in a quiet voice, "but perhaps it wasn't clear enough."

"You may sit back down, Miss Granger. Now, class. You cannot underestimate the level of focus a transfiguration of this scope will require of you. All other thoughts must be removed from your mind, until all you can see is the before and after of the object you are working with."

Ron's attention wavered again from McGonagall when she began to go over the material a second time. He leaned forward over the desk, pretending to be looking back over his notes while he watched Hermione out of the corner of his eye.

"Hermione, don't worry about it," Harry whispered to her after long minutes of Hermione sitting with them at the table, stunned so deeply she had stopped taking notes. "You'll be turning that thing into a new hut for Hagrid before you know it." She gave Harry a weak smile and Ron wished he had something comforting to say to her too.

"Harry, it's just-it's as if I've forgotten how to-" Hermione began, but Harry stopped her before she could finish.

"It doesn't mean anything, Hermione," Harry told her, and gave her a look that even Hermione couldn't argue with.

"That is all for today," McGonagall said, releasing them.

Ron and Hermione rose to their feet, saying goodbye to Harry as he remained behind for his meeting.

"Shall we go straight to the library, or do you have somewhere else to go first?" Hermione asked him. Her voice wavered a little, but the lost look in her eyes gave her away.

"Hermione, we don't have to-I mean, you don't have to help me, if you don't want to. Why don't you go have lunch with Ginny and I'll go back to the common room and read the Herbology chapter?"

"You don't-no, of course you don't need me to tell you what's written clearly in _Uncommon Magical Plants and their Uses_."

"It's not that, Hermione. It just-well, it doesn't seem fair for you to miss lunch because I can't get my work done on time. Come on. Come to the common room with me. You can drop some of those books off and make sure I get started without getting distracted. Then I want you to go down to the Great Hall."

"We'll see, Ron. Perhaps I could use the time myself to do some review for Transfiguration."

"Hermione," he began, and then he panicked. He wanted to tell her not to worry about what had just happened, but he didn't have a clue how to do it without upsetting her and making things worse.

"Yes?"

Why, why, why did she have to be so bloody attentive all the time? Didn't she know that most of what he had to say was absolute rubbish and there was no point in hanging on every silly word whenever his mouth opened itself before he had a chance to think?

"What?"

"Ron, you said my name."

"Well, yes."

"And?"

Suddenly it all seemed more important than it should have. He should have told her to relax, not to worry about some stupid spell she'll have mastered before any of the rest of them could do half as well. She would either be grateful for his support or further annoyed at herself at this lapse from her own high standards and at him for reminding her of it.

It was the only dance he knew all the steps to, this conversation he'd had with Hermione a thousand times, just with different subjects. This time it seemed different. He was struggling to find the words to comfort her, to remind her how strong, beautiful, and powerful she was...what was that he thought between strong and powerful again?

"Never mind," she said, sounding slightly annoyed.

"No, wait, Hermione. Well, I just don't think you should worry about that spell." They approached the portrait of the Fat Lady as the words rushed out of him so quickly they ran together.

"Ignacia's powder," Hermione said, stepping in front of him to give the password to the Fat Lady. Once they were safely inside the common room and alone, he knew something was about to happen. He braced himself, expecting a speech about how important Transfiguration would be to them over the next two years and exactly why they both had to take every lesson with deadly seriousness.

What he wasn't expecting was Hermione to be fighting tears as she turned to face him.

"I can't not worry about it, Ron," she said, nearly choking on her words. "Everyone was there. They all saw. Parvarti and Lavender. Neville, Seamus, and Dean. Harry. And you."

"What did we see? You not being able to do a difficult spell on the first bloody try? Hermione, come on, don't do this to yourself."

Tears still threatened to spill over her cheeks. She seemed to be searching for something to say, but couldn't find it. Ron didn't know what to say either, but he couldn't bear the silence.

"You'll do it, Hermione. I know you will. One more crack at that spell and you'll be making so many statues they'll have to build another wing on the castle."

"But," she began, her voice shaking. "I didn't. Not when it counted. Not when Professor McGonagall thought I could. Not under pressure. What if it had been more than a lesson, Ron? What if I can't do this when it counts?"

"But you can. I've seen you do it. Whenever it's mattered, to keep yourself safe, or to save Harry's or my backside, there you've been."

She began crying in earnest now, and he felt utterly defeated. He was trying to make her feel better, but had only succeeded in making her more miserable.

"You-you have to read. Professor Sprout-"

"I don't care about Professor Sprout or bloody Herbology, Hermione."

"But you should! You have to! I know you and Harry rely on me to quote you passages of books and lend you my notes, but what if I fail you? What if something happens and I don't think of the right thing at the right time? What if-if I let something distract me, and my concentration wavers and I-"

He felt utterly useless. He couldn't think of a single thing he could say to her that would actually not make things worse. Before he knew what he was doing, he crossed the space between them, placed his hands on her shoulders, and pulled her gently into his chest.

"Do you think that's all you are to us?" he whispered into her hair. He could feel her stiff shoulders soften as he held them in his hands. He longed to let his arms encircle her, and was almost about to when she pulled away from him. He thought she would leave him, disappear up the steps where the castle wouldn't let him follow her. To his relief, she pulled back just far enough to look at him. Her eyes bore into his and he seriously considered kissing her. Was it possible she'd moved to allow him to do exactly that?

"Ron, we-"

His mind, addled as it was with thoughts of her, with what he wanted to do, and how much he'd ruin everything if it wasn't what she wanted as well, nevertheless knew that allowing her to finish that sentence would break the connection he felt between them now. He could not allow that to happen.

He shushed her, brushing away the tears from her right cheek.

"You are so much more to me than that," he told her.

He bent his head slowly toward her, hoping she would give him some clue that kissing her was not going to get him hexed. It seemed to take forever, crossing this distance between them. He willed her eyes to shut, for her to relax against him. Anything to show him that in some way, he was not the only one who'd lost his head.

He could feel his heart beating. The rushing noise of his own blood pulsing through him was all he could hear as his entire world shrunk down to the space that he and Hermione occupied together.

Perhaps it was better to start small, he thought. Her eyes, shocked and still wide with tears gave no hint what she wanted him to do. Perhaps she wasn't sure, but he'd never been more sure about anything in his life.

His lips, in an agony of compromise, brushed her cheek. They slipped against her soft skin a bit as he tasted the saltiness of her tears. His hands found her chin, and he felt his heart race again as her own hands moved to rest at his waist. They were so close now, her warmth radiating from her, pulling him toward her.

"Ron," she whispered his name against his cheek, and it was the closest thing to perfection he'd ever heard. He turned his head the opposite direction to kiss her, finally, well, and truly. He was careful not to bump her nose with his, and he wondered when he could chance closing his eyes and still not do something boneheaded like miss her lips entirely. Her eyes had fluttered closed as she'd said his name, which was all he needed from her before he gathered the courage to finish what he'd started.

His own eyes slipped shut as he felt their lips touch. It was wonderful, exotically unfamiliar. He wished he'd read something or heard something to tell him what he should do now. Hermione pulled away a bit and everything in his body screamed out, relaxing only when she kissed him again.

Some part of him was keeping score. He'd kissed her, but she'd kissed him back. They were even. They both wanted to be doing this. Relief flooded him and he pushed all of the _but she's your friend!_ thoughts out of his mind.

What was he supposed to do now? Not that he couldn't do this all day, but was Hermione expecting something else? She must have read about what to do, having read about everything else in the known universe at one time or another. If there was a logical next step, Hermione would know what it was and he wouldn't. He cursed himself for being such a mindless prat. How could he not have thought ahead to this moment at some point in all the time it took him to get here?

 _Because you never thought it would happen, mate,_ he thought to himself.

She was overwhelming. He could smell the scent of shampoo from one of the taps he never used in the Prefect's bathroom. Her hand started to move the tiniest bit, playing just a bit up the side of his rib cage and returning to his waist, over and over. They found a rhythm and he kissed her in concert with the movements of her hand.

Distantly, he heard something in the background, and he was annoyed at the possibility that this could break his concentration. Someone had said something, and then there was a squeaking noise. Hermione broke contact with him and gasped, pulling away from him.

Ron turned to see Harry appearing from behind the portrait hole, and could never have been less happy to see him. He turned to find Hermione across the room and getting further away, picking up her books from the overstuffed chair by the fireplace.

It was suddenly as if the entire thing had never happened at all.

He looked to Harry, who, for his part, was looking confused at the two of them standing silently in the common room. He seemed to finally notice that Hermione's tear-streaked cheeks.

"Are you okay, Hermione?" Harry asked her. "Was it Transfiguration? Because I'm sure you-"

Hermione cut off his sentence with a fierce shake of her head. She looked guiltily at Ron for a second before looking down at the floor. Harry seemed to see Hermione's tears and the anguished flush on Ron's face and came to a conclusion about what they'd been doing.

"Oh, no. You two haven't been-"

Ron froze, willing Harry not to suss things out.

"-fighting again, have you?" Harry finished.

"No!" Hermione answered, a bit too loud. "It's nothing like that. I was upset after the lesson and Ron was trying to talk some sense into me."

Ron's eyebrows rose a little when he realized she didn't want Harry to know what they were doing any more than he did.

"Yeah," Ron said, weakly. "And I suppose I've been doing a poor job of it, too." He managed a smile, but only just.

Harry stood back and appraised them both for a moment before he said anything. Ron realized he was holding his breath. He didn't have words to describe what was happening between himself and Hermione. He couldn't imagine trying to explain it to Harry, in front of Hermione, no less, if Harry were to cotton on to what they were doing.

"Well," Harry began, thoughtfully. "Ron's right. If he was trying to tell you there is nothing for you to worry about, I agree with him. Remember how long we had to practice all those spells I had to use in the Tri-Wizard Tournament? And you don't think I'm a poor wizard, do you?"

"Of course not, Harry," she answered, still staring at the floor.

"Well, that's it then. It's settled. Now, I escaped McGonagall faster than I thought I would. Let's go down to the Great Hall. Ron, you can fake Herbology, can't you?"

As much as he could truly throttle Harry for interrupting them, he also felt some relief at having an excellent excuse to put off the inevitable _what in Merlin's name is going on_ talk.

"Oh, come on, Ron," Hermione said, wiping the remnants of her tears from her face. "I know you'll collapse from shock at hearing this from me, but Herbology doesn't seem like the most important thing right now."

"Hermione!" Harry exclaimed in mock surprise.

"Let's go, before I change my mind and force the two of you to sit down and do Transfiguration revisions."

Harry preceded them back through the portrait hole, allowing Ron and Hermione one short, but lingering glance at each other. They shared an uncertain smile before they followed Harry.


	3. Hermione's Secret

Ron awoke as first light began to stream through the windows, casting its brightness over his face through the bed hangings he'd left partially open.

It had been several days since they'd kissed each other, and neither of them had mentioned it since. Thinking about it tended to keep him up at night and the sleeplessness was starting to take its toll on him. He'd spent more than enough time lying in bed, pretending to be asleep, until the other boys were up and getting ready to go to the Great Hall for breakfast. The past five morning's worth, to be exact.

He sat up and moved to the end of the bed, peeking out to see if anyone else was awake yet. When he heard each of his roommates still snoring, he got quietly to his feet and padded from the room, careful not to wake any of them. Perhaps he could sit downstairs for a while, staring into the empty fireplace. That should help him clear his head.

He made his way down the staircase, a bit surprised to see Hermione occupying the space he wanted for himself. She was curled under a blanket, her legs crossed underneath. He walked closer to her and smiled softly to himself when he saw she was chewing on the blunt end of her quill as she balanced a book and a piece of parchment on her lap.

"What are you working on this early, Hermione? I didn't forget about another essay, did I?"

Her shoulders jumped at the sound of his voice, and she shuffled the parchment into the book and closed it before he could see what she was working on. Her wand was sitting beside her, resting softly atop the blanket.

"Ron! What are you doing up?"

A million possible responses flew through his head. Should he tell her how confused he was? He wasn't used to holding anything back from Hermione. In fact, he was more used to saying things to her he really shouldn't and causing a row.

He just couldn't afford to open his mouth and make a mess of things. His friendship with Harry and Hermione was the most important thing in his life. Yes, Gryffindor courage and all that, but there was also an expression he had heard his mother use often, _discretion is the better part of valor_. He considered this. If it was a reason he could wait to spill his insides to Hermione and perhaps give her a chance to do it first, he had developed a new respect for that little phrase.

He shrugged in what he hoped was a nonchalant way and said, "The sun woke me up. Thought I'd, er, get in a bit of Quidditch practice before breakfast."

Her eyes widened.

"In your pajamas? With no shoes on? Without your broom? And with no one to shoot the Quaffle at you?"

"Well, I suppose I wasn't really serious about it." He groaned inwardly. What a stupid excuse. "What are you doing up?"

"Well, I'm—I'm writing to my mum," she said, clutching the book tightly to her chest.

"Is everything all right?"

"Just telling her how the beginning of term has been so far," she said, a little too lightly.

This was driving him mad. Why couldn't he just ask her why she let him kiss her, and why she kissed him back? Hermione would never do something like that thoughtlessly, and Ron certainly knew he wanted it to happen. Why was this so difficult?

It was as if saying it aloud was like casting a spell. A few words whispered between the two of them would make it real, irrevocable. Their world would turn upside down. It would affect Harry and both of their friendships with him. He realized, sadly, he wasn't sure if he was ready for that.

He did really want to kiss her again, though. He shuffled his feet a little, debating whether he should plop down in another chair and join her. It would be strange, though. He had nothing with him, and she had a letter to get back to.

"I suppose I'll go back up, since there's no one up yet to, er, shoot the Quaffle at me."

Hermione fingered the cover of her book, as if she couldn't wait to get back to her letter. "You don't have to do that."

"It's all right. Just tell your Mum again that we're sorry about my Dad and all those questions he had for them at Diagon Alley. You know Dad, though. He loses his head a bit around Muggles."

"What? Oh! Yes. I'll—I'll do that."

He turned to go back up the stairs, and was halfway up before the sound of her voice stopped him.

"Ron! Wait."

He turned, and she sat up, swinging her legs around to the floor. Her head was hanging, as if she couldn't bear to look at him.

_No,_ he thought. _I've ruined everything, haven't I?_

"Hermione, don't. I—we can forget the whole thing. Please, just don't—"

"What are you talking about?" she whispered. "You have it all wrong. I've been keeping something from you." She swallowed hard, and he felt his body go cold. "Harry and I have both been keeping something from you."

~-~

Of course she was more interested in Harry than she would ever be in someone like himself. He could only think that his own interest in her must have forced her to think about how she felt about both of them. Obviously, she had chosen Harry. And why shouldn't she? The two of them didn't row all the time.

"You and Harry? When? How?"

"Ron, please try not to get upset. We would have told you, but we weren't supposed to talk about it at all. I really shouldn't be telling you now. I just—I don't think it's right to keep it from you. Both of us have nearly told you a thousand times."

He walked back downstairs and sat next to her on the sofa. She seemed so troubled. Despite his own disappointment, he really just wanted her to stop worrying about him. He'd just have to settle for being her friend, and try to get used to the idea of her with Harry.

"Hermione," he began, casting for words. "You don't have to worry about me. All I want is for the two of you to be happy. I won't stand in the way." He patted her hand in what he hoped was a reassuring manner, and selfishly let it linger there when he was done.

She looked down at their hands, her brow furrowed with confusion.

"What are you talking about? There's nothing about it that will make me happy at all, and I don't think Harry's too thrilled about it either. And how do you know about it? Why didn't you say something?"

"What?" It was Ron's turn to look confused. "Why would being in love with Harry make you both miserable?"

"In what?" she hissed, and pulled herself to her feet. Her wand and the book fell to the floor, but she didn't seem concerned about that in the least. "What did you say?"

"Er, why don't we just go back to when you had something to tell me."

"Why would you think that Harry was in love with me? Or that I'm in love with him?" She sat back down next to him and stared at him intently.

"What else would you and Harry be keeping from me that you aren't supposed to tell me and that you're afraid will make me upset?" he asked, feeling a little defensive.

"Ron, you've completely got the wrong idea. I love Harry, but not the way—" she blushed, looking away from him before finishing her thought. "Not the way you think." She wrung her hands together, and then seemed to notice the book lying open on the ground and the paper she hid from him resting in plain sight.

"What is that? It's no letter to your Mum, now, is it?"

She picked it up and handed it to him. He scanned it. It began with, " _Dear Harry_ ", but she'd only written about mundane details from the past couple of weeks. It was nothing Harry didn't already know, and it didn't make sense for Hermione to have written it to him. He read a bit of it again, trying to make some sense of it, and then he got a flash of something.

It was an image of Hermione sitting on a bench between Harry and himself. Hermione passed a book to Harry, pointing at a specific passage, which Harry then began to read aloud. They all dissolved into laughter before Harry could finish. Then, just as swiftly as the picture had resolved itself in his head, it was gone.

"That's odd," he said, handing it back to her. _Why would I remember that right now?_

"I know what I've written doesn't make any sense. It's just a test. Dumbledore asked us to do it. We're not supposed to tell anyone. It could ruin the experiment, and this could be very important."

"What you're doing, it's for the Order, then, isn't it? It could help us against You-Know-Who?"

"Possibly," she answered. "But not if things keep going the way they have been."

"Stop right there, then. If it's important that you and Harry do this, and if Dumbledore doesn't think you should talk about it, then don't. You told me that something is going on, and now I can help you and Harry hide it if we have to. I don't have to know why." Hermione didn't look convinced. "Don't worry. I understand. I'd do anything to help Dumbledore and the Order." _Even if all I can do is be in the dark and do nothing._

"I'm so glad you know, Ron. Well, not that you know, but that you know there's something." She grinned at him. "We were both miserable, trying to keep something from you."

"Let's not talk about it anymore. I don't want you to let anything slip."

"You're right." She seemed to be searching for something to talk about. Her eyes traveled the room, and she apparently found nothing worth mentioning.

"So, we have the patrol shift tonight, don't we? Unless you need me to try to switch with the Hufflepuffs again. Do you think you'll have much studying to do?" he asked her.

"Well, we do have a lot of important work coming up, and we both know I could use some time to go over Transfiguration. On the other hand, I really don't want to owe Hannah and Ernie another favor."

"Ah, yes. So that's settled then."

They sat in silence for a few moments. Hermione wondered aloud what they'd have for breakfast, and Ron expressed his hope that there would be sausages. It was extremely uncomfortable to have two very important things you can't discuss with one of your best friends. He wanted to jump up and pace the room, showering her with questions as he walked. _What are you doing with Harry and Dumbledore? Why would helping the Order make you and Harry unhappy? Why have we kissed? Why can't I stop thinking about you?_

She ran her hands nervously over the folded piece of parchment, and her eyes kept straying to the stairway leading to the girl's dormitory.

"You know," she said, suddenly. "I really should get back upstairs and get ready."

"Yeah," he said, faking agreement. "You're right. I should go back up too."

They whispered a quick, "See you later," at the stairs and went their separate ways. Ron wasn't sure whether he should be relieved that she and Harry were not having an affair, or mortified that he'd actually spoken about that with her.


	4. The Darkened Corridor

**The Darkened Corridor**

 

Ron ran his fingers through his hair and yawned as he walked through the castle later that evening. Perhaps tonight he'd be exhausted enough to drop off to sleep right away and stay that way until Harry finally had to shake him awake so they wouldn't miss Divination tomorrow morning. 

 

 

The rhythmic echoing sound of his feet shuffling against the stone floor was the only thing he had to keep him company tonight. He tried to make a case to Hermione that they should patrol together, but she had nothing of it.

 

 

_She's had it with you grabbing at her,_ his mind helpfully supplied.

 

 

He heard a noise from an adjoining hallway before he could think about it any further, and he was doubly relieved. It would not only help him take his mind off Hermione, but it would certainly interrupt the monotony. He adjusted his robes a bit and strode purposefully off toward the foreign noises.

 

 

His pursuit led him into a winding corridor, which was dark at this time of night. He could see a telltale reflection of a _Lumos_ spell against the wall around the last bend, and watched as it bounced in time with its caster's quick footsteps.

 

 

"What are you doing out at—" Ron began, as he rounded the corner.

 

 

"What do you think you're doing—" Hermione, her wand pointed at him, said at the same time.

 

 

Ron smiled a little, glad to see her.

 

 

"I thought we'd agreed I would take the North end of the castle, and you would take the South," she said, apparently not as happy to see him.

 

 

"Well, this is...sort of in the middle, isn't it?"

 

 

"Oh, I suppose so. You haven't seen anyone?"

 

 

"Nope. Other than you."

 

 

She sighed and rubbed at her eyes. Once she let her Prefect-fulfilling-her-duties demeanor fall away, he could see how tired she was too.

 

 

"It's nearly eleven o'clock," he continued. "Maybe we could head back a bit early. I'm as tired as you look." This earned him a raised eyebrow from Hermione, and he realized it had come out wrong. "It's just, well, you're yawning, aren't you? It's not that you look tired. But you—"

 

 

"It's okay, Ron. I am tired." She yawned again, as if to prove it.

 

 

"C'mon, then. Let's go before I have to carry you back." He pictured sweeping her up into his arms and heading for Gryffindor Tower. His imagination took a decidedly different turn after that, ending in his bedroom with Harry, Neville, Seamus and Dean mysteriously missing from the room. He blushed at the thought of it, and felt guilty when he looked at her, leaning against the wall in her fatigue.

 

 

"Wait," she said, so quietly he wasn't sure he heard her correctly.

 

 

"Why? Do you hear something?"

 

 

"No. You said you hadn't seen anyone, right?"

 

 

"Well, yes. I haven't."

 

 

She held out her hand to him, the flat of her back still resting against the wall behind her.

 

 

He stared dumbly at her hand for a moment before taking it, and she pulled him toward her. The same feeling he had back in the common room earlier that week washed over him again. He could feel his heart racing, and he memorized everything about the way she looked right then as he closed the gap between them. 

 

 

He put one hand on the wall, next to her head, to brace himself without crushing her against the cold stone. The other, he let rest lightly on her arm. His lips brushed hers, feather-soft, until she moved against him, deepening the kiss.

 

 

She pulled away from the wall, snaking her arms around his waist. He wasn't at all sure what to do with his hands now, but he settled them over her shoulder blades. He struggled not to pull her in closer. Everything between them now was so new. He didn't know the rules anymore, and had no idea how she would react if he followed his instincts into even more unfamiliar territory. 

 

 

Her lips were heaven. Kissing her, being close to her like this was an amazing puzzle he could spend the rest of his life trying to solve. His curiosity burned inside him. If this was what her lips were like, what about her earlobe? Or the nape of her neck? He couldn't tear his eyes away from it the last time they were patrolling. Now, he felt sure, she would let him taste her there, trace the curves with his lips.

 

 

He broke the kiss, and she let out a little gasp of surprise. He cupped her cheek with one hand, and she leaned into it, nuzzling him. He found the hollow just under her jaw with his lips, and she arched against him. He could feel her entire body pressing against him, her curves soft and warm underneath her robes.

 

 

He took a chance and let his free hand play over her back, his wide palm tracing slow, imperfect circles. When he didn't feel her stiffen or pull away, he allowed himself to enjoy what they were doing. He strayed further down her neck, finding that beautiful little area just inside her collarbone. He heard her gasp again over his shoulder and he felt a surge of confidence.

 

 

"Hermione, you feel—"

 

 

Suddenly, her palms were flat against his chest and she pushed him away. He stumbled backward for a step or two before he regained his balance.

 

 

_Of course she pushed you away, you git. You went too far._

 

 

"Hermione, I'm sorry—"

 

 

"Professor Dumbledore," she said, her face a mixture of pale white and bright red.

 

 

_Professor Dumbledore? What did he have to do with—_

 

 

He turned slowly around. He prayed he wouldn't see what he feared would be there.

 

 

He wasn't that lucky.

 

 

"I do believe it is late enough that even Prefects are to be in their dormitories. Isn't that right, Miss Granger, Mr. Weasley?"

 

 

"Of course, Professor Dumbledore," Hermione answered in a barely audible voice. She fixed her robes, which had turned rather sideways on her. She ducked her head and hurried past Dumbledore, who seemed to be content to stand in the center of the corridor and regard them with a gentle smile on his face. Ron began to follow her, but Dumbledore's hand on his shoulder stopped him.

 

 

"I wonder, Mr. Weasley, if you could come to my office tomorrow morning. Just tell Professor Firenze that I asked you to stop by when he inquires of you why you are late."

 

 

"Yes, sir." He gulped, and took long, fast strides to catch up to Hermione. It wasn't easy, as she was moving along at a clip just short of jogging. She seemed to be avoiding his eyes when he finally pulled even with her.

 

 

"Hermione, I'm sorry. I feel—"

 

 

"What are you talking about, Ron? It's my fault. It was my idea and now you have to see Professor Dumbledore tomorrow." She shook her head, as if she were trying to forcibly eject the memory from her mind. "I'm going with you."

 

 

"You're not," he said. "I'm not sorry he only asked for me. I intend to keep you out of this."

 

 

"Ron, don't be ridiculous. I was the one who—"

 

 

"And I didn't mind it a bit." He smiled shyly at her, remembering how she'd felt against him. He wouldn't mind a year's worth of detention for one minute of kissing Hermione.

 

 

"Ron—"

 

 

"Please don't worry about it, Hermione. We have to get back to Gryffindor Tower." He took her hand to lead her back. Her breathing had turned into troubled sighs, as if she still wanted to debate how irresponsible she was. "I'm not worried," he reassured her several times.

 

 

She looked doubtfully at him, and he knew she couldn't imagine not panicking at the possibility of being in this kind of trouble.

 

 

"You'll tell me what happens?"

 

 

"Yes."

 

 

"And you won't leave anything out? Even if it doesn't seem important."

 

 

"I won't."

 

 

It was only then that he felt her hand relax in his.

 

  



	5. The Admission

**The Admission**

 

"What has this one done, Albus?" the portrait of Headmaster Dippet asked Dumbledore, who had just settled in behind his desk after letting Ron into his office.

 

 

"Nothing that has not happened before, or that I daresay will not happen again, Armando." Dumbledore smiled at Ron, and Ron wondered if he should offer some kind of apology. It couldn't hurt, he reasoned.

 

 

"Professor Dumbledore, I just want to tell you that I'm really sorry for what happened. I'll take whatever punishment you think is fair, but you should leave Hermione out of it. It was all my idea."

 

 

"And not a very original idea, at that. Do you know, Mr. Weasley, how many pairs of Prefects have gone on to be married? I wish I had seen it sooner."

 

 

"Married? What—wish you had seen what sooner?"

 

 

"The connection between you and Hermione Granger." Dumbledore produced a piece of parchment and handed it to him. "Professor Flitwick was kind enough to loan this to me. Could you read that to me, please?"

 

 

Ron took it, and felt the dryness in his mouth as he began to speak. It was another odd letter from Hermione to Harry, talking about a Care of Magical Creatures lesson from earlier in the term. He paused, as the writing blurred and he got an image in his head, just as he had when he held her other letter to Harry back in the common room. He tried to fight it and keep reading, but it took hold in his mind.

 

 

"Do you see anything?" Dumbledore asked him.

 

 

"Y—Yes. I see all of the Gryffindors sitting at our table in the great hall, having breakfast. I—I don't remember when this was, but—wait. Ginny's just gotten an owl. Ah, it's the morning she got those brilliant brownies from Mum. Blimey, and she still won't let me have one." It looked so real to him, as if he were there again. He dropped the parchment onto Dumbledore's desk, and the image was gone. "What did I just see?"

 

 

"Miss Granger has been attempting to put a charm on these letters that will convey a hidden message, visible to only one person. She put a rather effective jinx on a piece of parchment last year, the roster for your Defense Against the Dark Arts meetings, I believe. A useful skill in the correct hands. The charm we're asking of her now is similar, but much more advanced. I see now she is having more success with it than we have realized. Harry cannot read the message hidden in these letters, but you can."

 

 

Ron was about to exclaim, _so that's what they've been up to,_ before he thought better of it. He wasn't supposed to know anything about it, as far as anyone other than he and Hermione knew.

 

 

"Why would Hermione need to send us secret messages when we're all here?"

 

 

"It would, regrettably, be useful only if she was sent elsewhere. There are members of the Order in other areas of the world and it has been quite difficult to communicate with them. Fully qualified wizards have struggled to achieve what she has just done, when you took that parchment and saw what she'd hidden there."

 

 

"You can't," Ron gasped. "You can't send her from here. We have almost two years left. She—we—aren't ready."

 

 

"While I would much prefer to keep each of you out of the Order until you have finished your education here at Hogwarts, you have all proven the ability to put yourselves directly in the center of our fight against Voldemort, despite my work to the contrary." Ron tried not to shudder at the mention of Voldemort's name. "If it is decided to pursue this plan, she will be surrounded by witches and wizards to protect her at all times. She is the one student I believe could maintain her studies on her own, with some help via owl from her professors here."

 

 

"And, Hermione and Harry knew this? Knew she'd be leaving if it worked?"

 

 

"I did not keep that information from them."

 

 

"But you kept it from me! You didn't tell me what would happen!"

 

 

Dumbledore's face crinkled with regret for a moment before returning to his normal countenance of mild benevolence.

 

 

Ron couldn't believe he was standing in Dumbledore's office, yelling at him without regard for the consequences. "I'm sorry," he apologized, although he wasn't sure why. He wasn't actually sorry for what he'd said.

 

 

"Mr. Weasley, if I were overly sensitive to students becoming upset at information they were not happy to have heard, I would long ago have left the Headmaster's duties to another witch or wizard."

 

 

Ron considered the importance of the job Dumbledore was entrusting to them, and he began to regret his reaction. Dumbledore seemed to take his silence as his true apology.

 

 

"We are still not certain any of this will come to pass. It is merely preferable to be over-prepared than to be caught off-guard." Ron nodded, glumly. "You may go to your Divination lesson now." 

 

 

The only thing that Ron found relief in was that it was Firenze's turn to teach them instead of Trelawney's. At least he wouldn't have to spend an hour listening to dire predictions for himself and for Harry, knowing most of them could be true if he didn't have Hermione here, with him.

 

 

 

~-~

 

 

 

Ron slumped in his chair next to Harry at the back of Firenze's Divination classroom. Firenze had stopped speaking when Ron had entered, and Ron realized he was waiting for an explanation.

 

 

"Sorry, Professor. Professor Dumbledore called me to his office this morning. Prefect business."

 

 

Firenze nodded at him and continued the lesson. Harry turned to Ron with an inquisitive look, leaning in to whisper to him.

 

 

"What was it? Anything? Was it really Prefect business?" Harry asked him, his voice so quiet Ron could hardly hear him.

 

 

Ron shook his head. "I'll tell you later." Harry looked worried, but Ron was annoyed with both Harry and Hermione for keeping something like this from him. He knew it was irrational, but he didn't mind if Harry spent some time feeling as terrible as Ron felt. "I read an interesting letter today from Hermione, Harry."

 

 

Harry looked confused for a moment before his eyes widened. He snuck a look at Firenze and the rest of class, all of whom were thoroughly preoccupied with the current lesson. "He showed you one of the letters?"

 

 

Ron nodded, his anger getting the better of him. He was afraid if he opened his mouth to speak, he wouldn't be able to keep his voice down.

 

 

"Ron, we were going to tell you."

 

 

"When? Once she was already gone?"

 

 

Harry shut his eyes and a pained expression came over his face. "I don't want that any more than you do."

 

 

They sat in silence, pretending to pay attention until the end of the lesson. When Firenze finally told them it was time to leave, Ron gathered up his things before Harry had done more than roll his parchment up.

 

 

"Ron, wait!" Harry pleaded, fumbling his books into a bag and slinging it haphazardly over his shoulder.

 

 

"I've had enough of waiting, Harry. I'm going to talk to her and tell her—"

 

 

"Not here," Harry pleaded. He looked around at the other students still gathered in the classroom.

 

 

"Right, then." Ron stomped away from Harry, not caring if Harry followed him or not.

 

 

"What were we supposed to do, Ron? Say no?" Harry whispered to him once they were in the hallway. 

 

 

"If you could have seen the messages, would you have told Dumbledore?" Ron asked. " _Could_ you see them?"

 

 

"If I—no, I couldn't see them. Could you?"

 

 

"Yes, but no one told me what that would mean for Hermione. I shouldn't have said anything."

 

 

"I don't understand how you saw it. Hermione was supposed to direct the charm at a specific person. I already knew about the experiment, so they decided to use me as the receiver."

 

 

"How did you already know?"

 

 

"I overheard Hermione and Lupin talking about it when we were all at Grimmauld Place at the end of the summer. I was just as angry about her leaving as you are now."

 

 

Ron hadn't realized it, but Harry had been leading him somewhere while they were walking. It wasn't Gryffindor Tower, but toward Hermione's Arithmancy classroom. Ron began to scan the crowd for her and found himself frustrated when he didn't find her.

 

 

"Blimey, Harry. Where is she?"

 

 

"Ron! Harry!" Hermione's voice cut through the din. They spun around to see her running toward them, coming from the same direction they had been.

 

 

"Hermione!" Ron said, relieved to see her.

 

 

"What are you doing here?" she asked them, breathlessly, her face flushed from chasing them. "I got out of Arithmancy early and went to find you, but you were both gone."

 

 

"We were looking for you," Harry supplied. "He knows," he said to Hermione, and gave her a significant look.

 

 

"Knows—oh, no. Ron, is that why Professor Dumbledore wanted to see you?"

 

 

"I guess he decided to take a chance I wasn't too thick for your spell to work on me."

 

 

"Too thick?" Hermione asked him. "Ron, that has nothing to do with it. And you aren't thick."

 

 

"Yeah, well, I saw it. One of the messages."

 

 

Hermione's face was unreadable. "I thought I wasn't doing the spell correctly."

 

 

"Why are you _trying_ to get it to work, Hermione? Don't you know what they're going to do with you if it does? They're sending you out there, away from us! Places where it's dangerous enough there's no other way to get a message out!"

 

 

"They need me, Ron," she said, quietly.

 

 

"Someone else can do it, Hermione. Someone—older than us." _Someone who's not you,_ Ron added, silently.

 

 

"There's no one to do it, Ron. All I have to do is write messages. Dumbledore says I'll be as safe as I am here at Hogwarts. Considering all the trouble we've managed to find ourselves in here, I think I can accept the risk."

 

 

"You're not going," Ron said, wishing he could be as sure of that as he sounded.

 

 

"It's not up to you," she said, unable to meet his eyes.

 

 

"Why isn't it? Would you just let me go? Or Harry?" Ron demanded.

 

 

"If it was the right thing to do, I would," she answered, her voice shaking.

 

 

"Ron, don't," Harry asked. He put his hand on Ron's arm, and Ron knocked it away. "Don't you think I felt the same way?"

 

 

"No, I don't think you feel the same way, Harry."

 

 

"You think I want her to go?" Harry asked him.

 

 

"No, but I don't think you're in love with her, either."

 

 

He watched their reactions as he realized what he'd just said. Harry and Hermione's mouths both hung open in surprise. He hadn't known exactly what his feelings for Hermione were, but hearing his own words made him realize how true they were.

 

 

The three of them stared at each other in disbelief. Ron tried desperately to find some hint of Hermione's reaction in her eyes, but his heart was beating so fast it was addling his mind.

 

 

"I have to go," Hermione said, and dashed away before Ron or Harry could say another word.

 

 

The two boys stood, gaping at each other, before Harry seemed to recover himself enough to speak.

 

 

"What are you still doing here, Ron? Go after her!" Harry gave him a push, causing Ron to stumble a bit. "Go!"

 

 

Ron closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He turned his eyes down the corridor, found Hermione battling her way through the crowd, and took off running.

 

  



	6. The Answer

**The Answer**

 

"Hermione!" he called after her, before it occurred to him that warning the person you are chasing after that you are trying to catch them is a supremely dunderheaded thing to do. Hermione seemed to speed up, and Ron had to work rather hard to find a path through the throng of students that would allow him to close the gap.

 

 

He hadn't meant to tell her like that. He hadn't meant to tell her at all, especially since he hadn't even realized it himself.

 

 

Just ahead of him, she reached a door that led to a courtyard. She went through and the door slammed shut behind her. Ron reached it, pulled it open again, and followed her.

 

 

Even for November, it was uncharacteristically cold. He didn't have any lessons outdoors today, so he hadn't brought his mittens, a scarf, or even a cloak. Neither had Hermione. He could see her breath as it escaped from her mouth in little puffs. She was carrying her usual load of five or six books, and he knew her hands would be getting cold.

 

 

They were now free of the crowd indoors, and he broke into a full run. With his longer legs, he caught her easily.

 

 

"Come back inside, Hermione."

 

 

Her shoulders slumped, defeated, when he put his hand on her shoulder to stop her. She didn't even turn to face him. _This had to be bad,_ he thought.

 

 

"I—I would never have said that if I'd known it would make you this upset," he said, desperately trying to fix things. "I know I say a lot of things without thinking, and you're usually the one who gets hurt. You'd think I would have learned by now."

 

 

"Was it true?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper.

 

 

"Was it—why would I—Hermione," he stammered, desperately trying to gather his wits enough to give her a decent answer. He simply could not have this conversation with the back of her head. "Please turn around."

 

 

Slowly, she turned to face him. Her cheeks were red from the cold, but her eyes burned up at him. The wind kicked up, whipping her hair around her face.

 

 

"Hermione, I think we should—"

 

 

"Is it true?" she interrupted, her hands grasping at the bindings of the books she carried as she hugged them to her chest.

 

 

He took a deep breath, wishing he could be anywhere other than here. He was about to tell a girl he loved her and she could very easily tell him she didn't feel the same way.

 

 

"Yes," he said, trying to affect a confidence he didn't feel. He wanted to tell her he'd understand if she didn't love him back, but he was so lost himself that he couldn't find any words to make her answer easier on her. Long eternities passed as he stared at her, waiting for her to say something.

 

 

"Ron," she whispered, and he thought he felt his heart stop.

 

 

The books in her arms clattered to the ground between them, and she threw herself into his chest. Her arms wrapped around him, and he had to take a half step backward to maintain his balance.

 

 

He blinked a few times, trying to register what this could mean.

 

 

"Are you going to hug me back, or do I actually have to tell you I love you too before you do it?" Her voice was muffled against his robes, but he was sure he'd heard her correctly.

 

 

He went over her words a few times in his head, coming to the same conclusion each time. She loved him.

 

 

She loved him.

 

 

Hermione Granger loved him.

 

 

He found a way to move his arms, and he pulled her closer to him. An amazing wave of relief and happiness came over him, and he couldn't just stand there. He leaned over to get a better grip on her, sliding his arms down to her waist. He picked her up, taking her weight onto his chest, and spun them around a couple of times before he settled her feet back onto the ground. 

 

 

She laughed, and he joined her. He'd never felt this giddy in his life.

 

 

"Are you sure?" he whispered into her hair, unwilling to pull her away from his chest.

 

 

"Of course I am, you nutter," she answered. He sighed. Only Hermione could sound so annoyed and in love with him all at the same time.

 

 

"What took us so bloody long?" he asked her, and he felt her shake her head against him. She laid her cheek against him and he pulled her in closer. "Why did I have to wait until I'm about to lose you?"

 

 

He felt her tense in his arms. "Ron, we don't know that. I've just started to learn about the spell. Those charms I've been using send such a short message. I'm going to have to do much better than that to be useful."

 

 

"How are you doing it?"

 

 

"It's a charm, different each time depending on the message I'm trying to send. It's quite difficult. It takes time, concentration, and it hasn't been working. At least, I thought it hadn't. I've been convinced I'm just not up to it."

 

 

"That's why you were so upset in Transfiguration!" he said, pulling away so he could look into her eyes.

 

 

"I thought it was another sign I wasn't capable."

 

 

"You know that's not it, right? If you can't do it, I don't know anyone who can." He watched her blush, and he was amazed to realize his praise truly meant something to her.

 

 

"That wasn't the problem. I think I finally understand why it doesn't work with Harry. I have to direct the images at someone. I have to concentrate only on the person I'm sending the message to. My failures with Harry's messages happened for the same reason as that disaster with the statue spell. I was thinking about something else. Someone else." He marveled at the idea that he'd finally found a way to break her concentration. "I suppose they'll want us to work on the message charm together," she said, a wicked gleam in her eyes.

 

 

"Hermione, you know I think you're absolutely brilliant, don't you?" She blushed again, and he grinned at her.

 

 

"You're quite a handful yourself, Ron Weasley."

 

 

"C'mon, let's go inside. It's bloody cold out here." He held out his hand, wondering if she was really ready to walk down that corridor toward the Great Hall, hand in hand, for everyone to see.

 

 

She took it without a second's hesitation.

 

  



	7. The Gryffindor Quidditch Tournament

The next morning was a beautiful, sunny Saturday. It was hard to believe it had been so chilly the day before, as this day felt more like early August than mid-November.

Ron had asked Ginny to find a way to distract their housemates so he, Hermione, and Harry could get some privacy. Ginny had been wildly successful, suggesting an impromptu, intra-house Quidditch tournament. The few people who didn’t want to play sat in the stands, cheering on their friends.

Ron and Harry had kept themselves out of the games by telling everyone how desperately far behind they were with their studies. This gave them the perfect excuse to isolate themselves a bit. Ron had to admit, based on their past record, it was a believable excuse.

The three of them sat alone on a deserted patch of grass far enough away from the Quidditch pitch to at least dull the noise of their classmates. They'd spread out a wide selection of textbooks in front of them, each of the books opened to a random page to throw off anyone who might chance by. Hermione sat against a tree, staring at a piece of parchment, doing the real work they'd come here to do.

Ron and Harry were supposed to be looking for ways to help Hermione, but Ron kept finding himself looking at Hermione instead of his Charms textbook. Hermione was clearly having trouble concentrating, and he could guess why. The current game was a bit boisterous, thanks to the unpredictable flying of the Creevy brothers.

She dropped the parchment to her lap, rubbing her eyes and temples with her hands.

"Hermione, no one will notice if we slip away now. We can go back to the common room. There won't be a soul there for hours and you can get some peace and quiet."

"Thanks, Ron, but we should stay here. I have to learn to focus, no matter what's going on around me."

Ron pictured her in a darkened room, trying desperately to charm a message into a piece of parchment, the noises of a brutal Death Eater attack filtering through the walls. He shifted so he was closer to her.

"I hate this," he told her.

She lifted her eyes from her work to meet his, looking as though she wanted to argue with him. He reached out and brushed the back of her hand with his, and she softened.

"So do I," she answered.

Harry looked uncomfortable, as if he wasn't sure if he should be there or not. Though part of Ron was eager to have Hermione all to himself, he and Hermione had promised each other to keep their feelings from harming their friendship with Harry. Ron felt sure that he could control himself long enough to enjoy a few hours with both of them. He pulled his hand back and tried to return to reading the Charms textbook.

Hermione took her wand from where it sat on the grass next to her. She pointed it at her letter to Ron, which currently held a rather boring revision schedule for their end of term tests. Her eyes slipped shut, and her breathing became deep and regular. Finally, her head dropped back, exposing the length of her neck, and all Ron could think about was what it had felt like to kiss her there.

The wand danced in her gentle grip, tracing a complicated pattern in the air. The fingers that had felt so wonderful against his rib cage mesmerized him and he drew in a deep breath of his own. She quietly whispered what seemed to Ron an impossibly long spell, and the letter glowed gold for a moment before returning to normal. Her shoulders fell backward until she found the rough bark of the tree to support her.

"Hermione, are you all right?" Ron hissed. He glanced at Harry, who also seemed concerned.

"I'm fine," she said, but her eyes still had not reopened. "It's hard at first, but I'll be fine in a moment."

"Are you sure? You were never this weak before," Harry asked her, and Ron began to feel sick at the idea that something could be wrong with her.

She opened her eyes and pulled shakily away from the tree. She gave them a fragile smile and smoothed out the wrinkles in her robes. Ron could see how unsteady her hands were, and that she was desperately trying to hide it.

"I'm taking you to Madam Pomfrey," he said, hoping the tone in his voice made it clear he wouldn't take no for an answer.

"Don't be ridiculous, Ron. I'll be fine." He opened his mouth to argue, but the flash in her eyes told him it was useless. He could have stunned her to get her there, but something told him she would hold that against him. "I tried a longer message this time. We never tried that, Harry, because the short ones hadn't worked yet. Professor Flitwick warned me it would be difficult."

She picked up the letter and offered it to Ron, and he took it, reluctantly. He didn't see anything right away. Just as he began to take in a very unrealistic coursework schedule that would allow him almost no time for chess or Quidditch practice, he started to see something.

He and Hermione were walking down a deserted corridor, and it was terribly dark. After a moment, Hermione stopped, telling Ron she needed to tie her shoe. He watched himself rock back on his heels, waiting for her as she bent to—wait. Her shoe hadn't been untied. He watched again as he baldly gawked at Hermione. Blimey, had he really been that obvious? Of course, this was Hermione's version of things, but still.

In the memory, Hermione straightened to her full height, and spoke his name once, and then again. He hadn't noticed the smirk on her face that night, but he could see it now. The image flickered for a moment as he saw himself stammering an apology like a git, and then it died away completely.

He turned to present-day Hermione in open-mouthed, delighted surprise. She was wearing a smirk not unlike the one she'd just shown him through the charm.

"You stopped on purpose," he told her.

She grinned in response, and turned her eyes to her lap.

"I think I'll just go get my broom back from Dean and see if there's a team that needs a Seeker," Harry said, pulling himself to his feet.

Ron tore his eyes away from Hermione. "Harry, mate. Don't. We're sorry. It's just—"

"It's all right, Ron. I don't mind. I think I'm more use chasing the Snitch right now than I am here. Anyway, I can't really concentrate on that Charms textbook in this weather."

"Harry," Hermione said, regret evident in her voice.

"It's all right," Harry said, and smiled at them. "Why don't the two of you take a break?" He jogged away from them, and Ron thought he'd had a fine idea.

"Harry's right, Hermione. That last charm was brilliant. You deserve a break."

"And what do you deserve?"

"What I deserve—is for you to take a break."

She was trying to look cross with him, but she was clearly losing the battle. A smile invaded her face and took over, and he cupped her cheek in his hand just to remind himself what it felt like. He snuck a glance around them, and found they were utterly alone. He'd just begun to lean in to kiss her when she unexpectedly yawned.

His head snapped back in surprise, but then he found himself laughing.

"Am I boring you already, dear?" he asked, still snickering.

Hermione wrinkled her nose. "Dear? You're not serious, are you?"

"Well, that's what you get when you fall asleep right when I'm about to kiss you."

"I was not about to fall asleep, and you were what?"

"About to kiss you. I know we've done it before, but I think you should get used to it, Granger. I plan on making a habit of it."

She smiled back at him, and they both broke out laughing again. She shifted her weight and got to her knees, leaning toward him. Ron's laughter died away as she hovered near his lips for a moment before she brought her mouth to his.

His hands found her hips, and he ran his palms over the curves he'd spent years trying not to notice. He could feel his pulse racing, his entire body tingling. When he felt her tongue probing at his lips, he thought he might go mad.

He had insane desires to roll her onto her back and use his hands to learn the flat of her belly, the lines of her legs, and other places he feared would get him slapped for even thinking about them. He could feel his entire body responding as he thought about it, and realized with a great deal of regret that he'd have to slow things down or risk embarrassing himself.

"Hermione," he whispered against her lips. He willed his hands to push her away a bit, but they had their own ideas.

"Ron," she answered. He loved hearing her say his name.

"It's not," he moved to kiss her jaw line, "that I'm not enjoying this." His lips drifted, feather-light, to her forehead, and over her fluttering eyelids. "But we have to stop," he interrupted himself to find her mouth with his again, "or you might find yourself out here in only your knickers."

She pulled back from him, her eyes wide with shock. Her hand flew to her mouth, but her eyes never left his. He began to wonder if he should play it off as a joke, even though it was—for his part—more true than he'd like to admit to her.

"Do you think about that?" she asked, scandalized. He wasn't at all sure how much of the truth he could chance giving her.

"Well, Hermione," he stalled. "I—I'm a bloke."

"What does that have to do with anything?"

"Well, I," he said, and then found himself unable to speak.

"With me?" she whispered, a look of wonder on her face.

"Well, of course _with you_. You're the one I'm in love with, Hermione."

"Do you think about it a lot?"

Ron took another look around, this time hoping someone would chance by. What bloody good was having friends if none of them came around when you needed a distraction?

"Do you?" she repeated. "I won't be cross."

Taking her at her word, he decided to tell her. "Blimey, Hermione. I think about you all the time. I think about you when we're at lessons. I think about you in the Great Hall. I think about you when I'm trying to go to sleep at night."

"You think about me, or about us?"

"Until yesterday, I didn't think there would be an 'us', except for Harry, you and me." Her eyes widened again, comically, at the mention of all three of them. "Not like that, Hermione. Honestly."

"You tried not to think about us before. What about now?"

"I didn't get much sleep last night, Hermione. And when I did sleep, I had some pretty great dreams."

Hermione blushed and looked away from him for the first time since she'd begun barraging him with questions. He worried that he'd gone too far and scared her.

"Hermione, don't worry. I know the difference between fantasy and reality. I like how we are just like this." He took her hand to reinforce the point.

"I do too. But I—" she chanced a quick look at him, "—can't say I haven't been thinking about it too."

Ron actually felt lightheaded, letting the meaning of her words wash over him.

"Hermione, we definitely have to stop for now. Just for a bit." He didn't trust himself to just kiss her, even here, in broad daylight.

The flush remained on her cheeks, but she seemed to relax. "Fancy a nap, then?" she asked him.

Ron moved so his back was propped against the tree, and opened his arms to her. She laid her head against his chest and snuggled next to him, her hand over his heart.

"We'll start working on the spell again in a while," she said as if she was convincing herself she shouldn't feel guilty for taking a rest.

"Sure. Whatever you want," he said, feeling himself relax along with her.

"We'll just nap for ten minutes."

"And then it's right back to work, Hermione. I promise."

Ron let his eyes shut, knowing they'd never wake up in ten minutes. They'd probably get up hours from now, perhaps only when Harry came back to get them. Hermione would be frantic that they'd wasted the afternoon, but it suited Ron fine. He'd have her in his arms, and he could delay her mastery of the message charm that much longer.

As he drifted into sleep, he realized he'd never wanted to see Hermione fail at something before. He felt guilty, but he was willing to bear it if it meant she would stay here with him.


	8. Hermione's Practice

Over the next few weeks, Hermione took to leaving little flashes of things for him whenever she handed him a piece of parchment. He'd just borrowed her Transfiguration notes and found an embedded memory of them kissing waiting for him. He was trying to concentrate by laying them out in front of him, avoiding even brushing a finger against them. She watched him from across the table at the library, laughter dancing in her eyes and threatening to spill over her lips. 

"Blimey, Hermione," he complained to her. "Did you have to do it to these notes? How can I study now?" 

"Serves you right, for not taking notes of your own," she whispered back.

"I'm having enough trouble concentrating as it is," he protested.

"Oh, Ron. It's not that difficult." She got up and circled around to his side of the table. She leaned over him to get a better look at the notes, her hands on his shoulders and the rest of her just an inch away. She was so close her hair brushed against the back of his hand. His closed his eyes and savored that delicious choked, breathless feeling he got whenever she was right next to him, but she didn't notice. "If you just read this paragraph here, I’m sure you’ll see—"

"Hermione," he growled under his breath. "This is why I'm having trouble concentrating." He stood, looking around quickly to make sure Madam Pince wasn't watching. He pulled her toward him and gave her a brief, hard kiss. Their bodies pressed together as their lips met, and he realized too late that she would be able to tell exactly how much he wanted her.

She broke away, retreating to her chair and sagging into it with a dazed look on her face. They stared across the table at each other, and he wondered how his pulse could be racing and his skin could be burning when they weren't even touching each other.

"I'm going back to my room to finish up," she said, in a strained voice.

He brought himself out of his daze as she started to gather her books. He thought of the library as her territory, and she shouldn't have to leave just because he couldn't hold himself together. "No, no. You stay. You have more books to move than I do."

He shut the two textbooks he had in front of him and stacked them. Before thinking about it, his fingers closed around her Transfiguration notes to pick them up, and images of them kissing filled his head again. He groaned at the absolute torture of it all, and released the parchment as if it had burned his hand.

"Hermione," he said, barely able to talk. "Could you roll that up and stick it under my arm?"

She gave him an apologetic look and did as he requested. "If I knew the counter-spell, I'd—"

"Well, I think we're going to have to work on that, if I'm ever going to be able to study again. I'll come retrieve you in a bit so you don't miss dinner, if you want."

Hermione nodded, and he walked unsteadily from the library to head for his room back in Gryffindor Tower. Classmates who greeted him as he walked were lucky to get a grunt in return, and more than one of them gave him an odd look as he stalked grumpily past them.

At long last, he reached his own desk and fell gratefully into his chair. He moved his arm and allowed Hermione's notes to flutter to the ground, where he frowned at them. He set out his Transfiguration textbook and tried to read the assigned chapter, but it was no good. He had to clear his head.

He flopped down on his bed, the springs creaking a bit under his weight. He propped himself up on a pillow, folding his arms behind his head. His thoughts turned to the second Hogsmeade weekend, which would begin the next morning. Ron had actually convinced Hermione to take a full day off, the first one since his meeting with Dumbledore. Since the day they'd discovered her success with the message charm, she had created a schedule for herself that only she could keep. Indeed, she seemed to be thriving on it.

Most of the time he was able to spend with her had been studying next to her in the common room or the library. Though he constantly tried to tempt her to put away the textbooks, he had to admit that his marks had never been higher.

Ron still found time to spend with Harry, but Harry had been leaving them alone together quite a bit. Ron was torn in half over this; he didn't want Harry to feel left out and he genuinely missed Harry being around, but he did want Hermione all to himself more often than not. Things were changing with the three of them, which was unavoidable. Ron felt slightly ill as he realized how quickly it could all change again, sooner than Ron could bear to consider.

Just as he knew she would, Hermione had been making a great deal of progress with the message charm. She was now able to embed longer messages, each one more detailed than the last. She'd sent him a memory of grabbing a quick breakfast in the Great Hall a couple of weeks ago and he'd actually felt full when his fingers released the parchment. She had also been experimenting with the charm, trying new variations like two-part messages or ways to focus Ron's attention on certain objects. She had even managed to send an embedded message to Harry, but it had been short and nearly transparent.

She was dutifully reporting her progress to Flitwick and Dumbledore, despite his many requests to keep a few of the details to herself. She refused, of course. He knew she could be gone tomorrow and there was nothing he could do about it. The thought of it was just too awful, and he tried to put it out of his mind.

His eyes found Hermione's notes, still sitting on the floor where he dropped them. He leaned over the side of the bed to retrieve them, and the images dominated his thoughts again. His head fell back against the pillow, and he lost himself in Hermione's memory of the two of them kissing.

It was strange to watch himself from the outside, but over her many memory charm attempts, he was beginning to grow accustomed to it. From this perspective, he could see what really seemed to affect her—what made her clutch at his back or lean into him. He struggled to merely observe and learn, but it was difficult.

He watched himself caress her shoulder, and she seemed to like that a bit. His hand roved, flattening as it strayed nearer her collarbone. He remembered where he'd wanted it to go, just a bit lower than he'd had the courage to touch her. He didn't know if she wanted him to do that.

He'd been so preoccupied then that he hadn't noticed Hermione's reaction. As his hand moved up to brush her neck, and then lower again, she arched upward against him. It looked for all the world as if Hermione wanted what he'd wanted, and he'd missed her cue. He heard himself groan with delicious frustration, and he wasn't sure if it had been in the memory or if he'd done it just now.

Hermione's hands separated from where they linked together around his back and slid around his ribcage to flatten over his own chest. His robes were unzipped down to his waist and they hung open, separating him from Hermione's touch only by his blue jumper. She ran her hands down to his midsection and he, in the memory, growled and pulled her closer, crushing her to him.

Her head fell back, her mouth open and taking in deep, fluid breaths. His mouth closed around her earlobe, then nestled in the space just behind it. He watched her react, noticing she'd been unsteady on her feet, and a beautiful flush had colored her cheeks.

She must enjoy when he kissed her there, he realized, and he intended to do it again at his first opportunity.

He was shocked to see himself grind his lower body against her. Just once, as if he caught himself doing it and decided not to risk trying it again. He truly had no coherent memory of it. At this point, his own memory of that day dissolved into one murky, indistinct jumble of images. As he lay on his bed, he went numb from shock he saw Hermione echo his movement with one of her own. 

How had he not backed her against the wall right there in the classroom, all fears of discovery gone in a whirl of temporary, kissing-induced insanity? Ron's body was responding at the memory of her in his arms, reacting to his touch.

Heaven help Hermione if she were with him right now.

He forced his eyes open, as the memory threatened to continue long past his ability to withstand the effect it was having on him. The parchment dropped from his grip onto his lap, and he took his wand into his hand and levitated it across the room to his desk. He didn't trust himself near it just now.

He tried to relax and slow his breathing, and as he did, he realized how tired he was. He still wasn't sleeping well, but now it was mostly due to staying up thinking about Hermione or worrying about her having to leave Hogwarts. Perhaps he could steal an hour's worth of sleep before dinner.

He looked to his bedside table, finding the phoenix figurine Hermione had given him for his last birthday. She'd charmed it to squawk and peck at him when he asked it to. She'd told him Muggles had something like it, and she'd wanted him to use it to keep himself from oversleeping.

"In about an hour, all right?" he whispered to the figurine, and it nodded sagely at him. He fell gratefully against his pillow, his head a mixture of his own memories, Hermione's, and some things from his own imagination.


	9. The Inevitable

An hour later, he found himself sitting up with the miniature phoenix flitting around his head, making a terrible racket as he drowsily swatted at it. His right hand connected with it and it careened across the room before it righted again, then it flitted back to sit on his bedside table.  
  
He rubbed his eyes and then slapped his cheeks to shock himself awake. Hermione would stay in that library all evening if he didn't come to remind her about dinner. Last week, he'd gotten engrossed in a game of chess with Harry and she'd come back to the common room after Madam Pince had finally forced her to leave. She'd been exhausted, her eyes red from too much reading. She'd asked him to rub her shoulders, and he'd become so distracted that Harry had caught him in a checkmate he should easily have anticipated.  
  
They could still meet Harry for dinner at the Gryffindor table, if Ron rescued Hermione from her books right now. He got up and looked at himself in the mirror. He ran his hands through his hair, trying to get it to lie down where his head had mashed against the pillow. It was quite odd, but he now worried about his appearance around Hermione, who had seen him scruffier than this plenty of times.  
  
He took the steps down to the common room two at a time, stopping when he realized Professor McGonagall had come to Gryffindor Tower. She wrung her hands and paced the floor, and he knew something must have happened.  
  
"Professor McGonagall," he called to her, startling her. She spun around, her hat nearly flying off her head as she did.  
  
"Mr. Weasley. Have you seen Hermione Granger?"  
  
His heart began to race. "Is she all right?"  
  
"I've been sent by Professor Dumbledore to find her. I was hoping to find her here."  
  
"I was just going to get her. She's studying in the library."  
  
"Of course. I should have gone there first."  
  
"Professor," he began, and then paused. He wanted more information, but he wasn't sure how to go about asking for it without being told off. "Is it—"  
  
"You'll find out soon enough," she cut him off, irritably.  
  
The portrait hole burst open, and Hermione and Harry stepped through.  
  
"Ron!" Hermione called. "You were supposed to—" she trailed off when Harry tugged on the sleeve of her robes, and she gaped at Professor McGonagall.  
  
"Miss Granger, I need to speak to you." McGonagall stared at them, becoming visibly exasperated when none of them responded to her. Ron couldn't make himself say anything. It didn't really matter how McGonagall explained things, because they all knew what she'd come to tell them. Now that the moment was here, Ron had no idea how to react.  
  
"Yes, Professor." Hermione sat in the nearest chair, clasping her hands together so tightly her knuckles were turning white.  
  
"Miss Granger, I need to speak to you alone."  
  
Ron looked at Hermione, silently begging her not to send them away. There was no reason she had to face this alone. Her hands were shaking, although she was trying quite hard to hide it. She began to chew on her bottom lip, and he had an insane impulse to tell McGonagall to go away and leave them alone.  
  
"I need them here," Hermione whispered.  
  
"Oh, very well. Are there any other students here, Mr. Weasley?"  
  
"I don't think so, Professor," Ron answered her. "Everyone should be in the Great Hall for dinner by now." He sat down on the arm of Hermione's chair, prying her hands apart and taking one of them in his own. Harry walked over to them, and put his hand on Hermione's shoulder.  
  
"There are Aurors making a great deal of progress ferreting out pockets of Death Eater activity outside of England. The information we're getting from them is sporadic, but their work is promising. They can no longer risk communicating with us directly. The last owl they tried to send was intercepted and it has set us back tremendously. Miss Granger, I'm afraid the time has come to put your hard work to use."  
  
The only thing that kept Ron from launching himself in anger at his professor was the look on the woman's face. He could tell she regretted delivering this news to them, and he couldn't quite bring himself to hold it against her.  
  
"When?" Hermione choked out.  
  
"Soon. You should pack what you need and be ready to go in the next few days. Choose wisely. You will not be able to take very much with you, and I'm afraid you could be gone for—" McGonagall's voice broke, and Ron could see just how deeply this was affecting her as well. She gathered herself together, and finished, "well, for quite some time."  
  
"Where are they taking her?" Harry demanded. Ron could hear the anger in his friend's voice, and he knew this would destroy Harry as well.  
  
"It is better if you do not have that information," McGonagall told them, and Ron didn't want to think about why that could be.  
  
"I understand, Professor." Hermione stood up, shaking her shoulder free of Harry and pulling her hand away from Ron's. "I want to take a walk," she announced, almost impassively.  
  
Before any of them had a chance to respond, Hermione left them there, disappearing through the portrait hole. Ron stood to follow her, but McGonagall stopped him before he could slip away.  
  
"A word of advice, Mr. Weasley?"  
  
He nodded at her impatiently. Hermione would be harder to track down with every passing second.  
  
"She needs some time." She smiled at him, and he wished that what she was saying wasn't true. McGonagall left Harry and Ron alone, and Ron wasn't at all sure what to do.  
  
"Come on, Ron. Let's go," Harry urged.  
  
As much as he wanted to agree, he knew they shouldn't. "No, McGonagall's right. If she sees us right now, she won't be able to make herself leave."  
  
"But I don't want her to go, Ron, and neither do you."  
  
"You're not the only one who has to risk something in this war, Harry. If I could go in her place, I would, but I'd be useless. I don't want this, but we all know it has to happen."  
  
Harry issued a loud sigh of frustration, but stopped arguing with Ron.  
  
"You can go to dinner, Harry. I'll wait for a bit and then track her down. I've lost my appetite anyway."  
  
"Now I know something's up, if you've lost your appetite," a voice called from the stairs. Ron recognized it right away, and knew that things were likely to get a bit more complicated.  
  
"Ginny!" Harry goggled at Ron's sister, who made her way toward them, looking very confused.  
  
"Why was McGonagall here? Where is Hermione going? What are you all on about?"  
  
"I thought you said no one else was here," Harry said to Ron.  
  
"I thought everyone else—hey, Harry. That's a good point. What _are_ you doing here, Ginny?"  
  
"None of your business," she said, blushing maroon.  
  
"Ah, well, that's fine then. The answer to all of _your_ questions is," Ron paused for dramatic effect, "none of your business."  
  
"Oh, very well. I was practicing some cosmetic charms for this weekend." She turned angry as Ron and Harry did a poor job of hiding their snickering. "Oh, what? Just because the two of you couldn't give a fig what you look like, does it mean the rest of us have to walk around looking like trolls?"  
  
"We don't look like trolls," Harry jokingly sulked. "We're at least as good-looking as a couple of horklumps."  
  
"I wouldn't be so sure," she said, cuttingly, but it had no effect on the boys.  
  
"Harry, listen. Take my sister down to dinner and see if you can keep her out of trouble? I've got to start looking for Hermione."  
  
"No! I'm not going anywhere until someone fills me in," Ginny insisted.  
  
"Ginny, you don't—"  
  
"We can stand here arguing, and Hermione can run that much further away from you, or one of you can tell me what's going on," Ginny said, interrupting her brother.  
  
"Fine," Ron huffed. "Harry, will you appease my sister and then make sure she gets some dinner? Can you imagine, missing dinner because you're too busy staring at your own reflection in the mirror."  
  
"Shut it, Ron," she said, and looked expectantly at Harry. "Well, Ron. What are you waiting for? Go after her. She only wanted a few minutes to herself, and then she wanted you to look for her."  
  
"How can you tell?" Ron asked her, glad to have some insight into his girlfriend's thoughts.  
  
Ginny rolled her eyes. "Honestly, Ron. How could you not tell? She doesn't want to be alone forever. Now go!" Ginny pushed him to emphasize her point.  
  
Ron gathered himself together and left Gryffindor Tower, utterly unsure where he was going or how he would find her. He could have asked Harry to borrow the Marauder's Map, but he wanted to know he could find her just because he knew her better than anyone did.


	10. Special Awards for Services to the School

He checked the most obvious place first, but there hadn't been a soul in the library except for Madam Pince. He kept asking himself where she would go. She could just be wandering, without a real destination in mind, but he really didn't think so. He could feel her out there somewhere, and she'd seemed so determined when she'd left them back in the common room. He just had to think. Where would she go? Where would she need to be?  
  
It came to him in a flash, and he set off running down the corridor. He careened around corners, once nearly losing his footing as he narrowly avoided a collision with a suit of armor. He made one more turn, and he smiled in triumph as he saw her just where he knew she would be.  
  
She was in the same corridor where he had admitted he was in love with her. She had her back to him, and she was looking into one of the glass cases that lined the wall.  
  
"Hermione," he called out to her, wishing he knew what to say next.  
  
"I had to come here. I had to make sure I would remember everything about that day." She kept her back to him, refusing to face him. "It might be all I have for awhile."  
  
"Hermione, don't. It—it'll be fine. You'll be back before you know it. With you there to keep them in communication with the Order, those Death Eaters will be in Azkaban before Boxing Day."  
  
He walked to her and pulled her back against his chest, circling his arms around her shoulders. He could see their image reflected back at him, and he got the oddest sensation. It was as if he could see their past, present, and future all at the same time. He could see the bickering children they had been, the uncertain teenagers they were, and the adults they would become together if only she could remain safe.  
  
"Before you came for me, I was standing here, looking at those Special Awards for Services to the School you and Harry got for closing the Chamber of Secrets. I was trying to convince myself that you'll both be fine without me, and that I would somehow be fine without both of you."  
  
"I never thought that was fair. Even though you were petrified, you were still the one who figured it all out. Harry would never have been prepared for the basilisk if you hadn't left those clues for us. It should be all three of us on those awards."  
  
"No, you and Harry would have—"  
  
"We would have been lost without you. We _were_ lost without you. As for now, we'll just have to do the best we can, and so will you. And if I know you, your best will be more than enough."  
  
She turned around within his arms, and he leaned down to give her a sweet, gentle kiss. He felt her tears mingling with their lips, and he pulled away.  
  
"You're going to be all right, Hermione. I promise."  
  
"Some of the letters will just be for you, Ron. Just don't report those to Dumbledore." She smiled up at him, and he smiled back. His heart was breaking.  
  
"I love you, Hermione."  
  
"I love you too."  
  
"This weekend, in Hogsmeade. You can have anything you want. We can go wherever you want, do whatever you want."  
  
"Ron," she began, uncertainly. "I want to spend some time with both you and Harry, but I'll need some time for us. Alone."  
  
"I'm sure Harry will understand."  
  
"Ron, can you find someplace where we can be alone? Completely alone?"  
  
"Well, there's always the—" he stopped, wondering if she meant what he thought she meant. "Hermione, you—you don't—I mean, well, I know you're upset, but you'll be coming back. We don't have to hurry anything." He couldn't believe he was trying to talk her out of it, but he couldn't stand the idea of her feeling rushed into something she might not be ready for. He wasn't sure he was ready for it himself.  
  
"I've been thinking about it," she said, suddenly turning thoughtful in a way only she could. "I know we're young, but I might not come back, Ron. I don't want to die without knowing what we could have been like if we'd had the chance."  
  
"Don't say that. Please don't ever say that again. We are going to grow up. We're going to win this bloody war. We'll go on to have jobs and a life together. Harry and my brothers and Ginny will be there to watch me marry you, Hermione Granger, and don't you ever tell me that isn't true."  
  
Tears were falling freely down her cheeks now, and he had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep himself from crying as well.  
  
"I still want you all to myself, even if we don't decide to..." She trailed off, blushing. "Can you figure something out?"  
  
He took her hand and looked into her eyes, as though that was where he'd find the words he was struggling with. "I think I have an idea."  
  
She stood on the tips of her toes and kissed him, just as gently as he'd kissed her earlier. He left his eyes closed for a moment after she pulled away, and he could feel his weariness wrapping around him again.  
  
"Hermione, are you hungry?"  
  
"Not really. I'd rather get some sleep. It's been such a long day."  
  
"I was hoping you'd say that. I don't think I could stand to be in the Great Hall surrounded by all those other people."  
  
"Walk me home?" she asked him, pulling on his hand as she took a step toward Gryffindor Tower.  
  
"I think I can manage that. It's right on my way."  
  
"Imagine that," she said, and he pulled her closer.  
  
Her shoulder bumped his arm as they walked. He released her hand and put his arm around her shoulder. Her head nestled into his chest, and he led them back to their dormitory with the last of his energy. They shared one last kiss in the deserted common room before they went to their separate rooms.  
  
Upstairs, Ron sat at the edge of his bed until Harry returned. He asked to borrow Harry's cloak and the Marauder's Map. Harry retrieved both items from his trunk and handed them to Ron without even asking why he needed them.  
  
"Is she all right?" Harry asked, looking worried.  
  
"As well as can be expected," Ron answered, trying to keep his voice even.  
  
"Well, I'm a bloody mess," Harry said. "I was fine until Ginny burst out crying and ran from the table in the Great Hall."  
  
Ron had been so tied up in his own feelings that he had completely forgotten Harry would be nearly as crushed as Ron was himself. Ron wished he had something to say to make Harry feel better, but there was nothing.  
  
"Go," Harry told him.  
  
Ron threw the invisibility cloak over his head, checked the map, and turned to leave. He caught a glimpse of Harry roughly closing the hangings around his bed before he slipped away.  
  
Ron dodged students returning from dinner, slipping through the portrait hole when Lavender entered, nattering at Parvati about the Hogsmeade weekend. It reminded him of what he had to do, why he had to leave the castle tonight. Hermione would be leaving soon, but he would make tomorrow perfect for her.


	11. Hogsmeade Weekend

Ron could still feel his nerves on edge as he, Harry, Hermione, and Ginny quickly moved through The Three Broomsticks to the table that had just opened up. Members of the Hufflepuff Quidditch team had occupied it, but Hermione had started a rather loud conversation with Ron about the new items they'd just seen at Quality Quidditch Supplies, and the Hufflepuffs had felt a sudden desire to leave.  
  
"You did that on purpose," Ron said in admiration, as he fell gratefully into the chair next to Hermione's. "And here, I thought you'd finally taken an interest in the latest brooms."  
  
"I don't know what you're talking about," Hermione said, and then broke out in laughter. "Well, how else were we to get a table?  
  
"Ginny and I will get the first round, all right?" Harry gave Ginny a significant look and she got up and followed him to help carry the butterbeers. Ron knew Harry had left them alone on purpose. He leaned in closer to Hermione and lowered his voice so it was barely audible over the din.  
  
"I snuck out last night under Harry's invisibility cloak. There's a place we can go where we can be alone. It's not as nice as you deserve, but it's as nice as I could make it."  
  
Hermione's face showed the same mixture of anticipation and fear he felt himself. He took her hand under the table and squeezed it, and she squeezed back.  
  
Harry and Ginny returned with four butterbeers, and Ron tried to join in the conversation. Hermione seemed quiet as well, only occasionally laughing at something Ginny or Harry had to say. With her free hand, she was scrunching up her small sack from Scrivenshaft's Quill Shop. Ron batted at her hand and she looked at him in surprise.  
  
"You're going to break that quill, you know," he told her, and she carefully laid the sack onto the table.  
  
"I told you not to buy it for me. It's far too nice."  
  
"You should have had the platinum one."  
  
"Ron, don't be ridiculous. That was three times as much as I'd ever spend on a quill."  
  
"That's why I wanted to get it for you. And you'll have it someday, Hermione, I promise."  
  
"I love this one, because it's from you."  
  
"Oh, sickening," Ginny teased them, her eyes dancing with amusement.  
  
"Ginny's right. Let's talk about something else," Hermione said, laughing softly along with Ginny and Harry. "Don't you three have a Quidditch match against Ravenclaw in a week?"  
  
Ron clasped his heart in mock surprise. "Hermione, is that the second conversation about Quidditch you've started on the same day? I really must be rubbing off on you."  
  
This caused another enthusiastic bout of laughter. Harry had to slap Ginny on the back to stop her from choking on a large mouthful of butterbeer she'd just taken.  
  
They talked and laughed some more, and Ron began to feel his anxiety melting away. Hermione was the same Hermione she'd always been. Neither of them was suddenly different because of what they were thinking about doing. He just hoped that the work he had done would be worthy of her.  
  
"Well," Ginny said, getting to her feet. "There are about a thousand more things I want to do today." She reached down and took Harry's hand, pulling him ingloriously to his feet.  
  
"Er, right. Ginny, let's go," Harry responded.  
  
They said their goodbyes to Hermione and Ron, and then left them alone at the table. Ron swore he could hear his sister say, "What do you mean, _too obvious_?" before they were out of earshot.  
  
"Not very subtle, is she?" Hermione commented.  
  
"Never has been, I'm afraid."  
  
"Ron, when should we go—"  
  
"Whenever you want," he interrupted. "Or not at all, if you're having second thoughts. It would be all right, Hermione, really. I don't want you to feel—"  
  
"No, no. I'm not having second thoughts," she said, but the look on her face made her seem more unsure than she sounded. "Are you?"  
  
Ron was having second, third, and fourth thoughts, but he wondered how he could tell her that without possibly hurting her. Of course he wanted this, but it just seemed so rushed. It wasn't that long since they had acknowledged they were in love with each other.  
  
Then he remembered what she'd said. _I don't want to die without knowing what we could have been like if we'd had the chance._  
  
"No, I'm not, but we don't have to do anything, Hermione. We'll just do what feels right."  
  
Hermione stood up, and he pushed his chair back to follow her.  
  
"Where are we going?" she asked, as she led them out of The Three Broomsticks.  
  
Ron patted the bag he was carrying, which held Harry's Invisibility Cloak. "First, we have to find someplace deserted so we can disappear for a bit. Then I'm afraid there's a bit of walking involved."  
  
"Well, we'd better set off then, hadn't we?"  
  
Ron took Hermione s hand and they left The Three Broomsticks. Ron peered down several alleys between shops until he found one without any of their classmates from Hogwarts there. He quickly pulled out the cloak and threw it over them, and they disappeared from view.  
  
~-~  
  
Ron led her back through the passage Harry had once used to get from Hogwarts to Hogsmeade, taking them back to the castle. Hermione asked him where they were going several times, and reminded him that many of their teachers were still back at the castle.  
  
"We're not staying at the castle, Hermione. It's just the best way to where we're going. Sorry for the hike."  
  
They walked out of the castle and onto the grounds, and Ron gulped as he saw the Whomping Willow before them. He didn't have many good memories of that tree. It had tried to kill him several times, after all.  
  
He reached into his pocket, and took out the phoenix figurine Hermione had given him. He whispered, "Peck at the knob inside the tree trunk again for me, will you?"  
  
The figurine flew away from them, and disappeared inside the tree. After a moment, the willow's branches quieted, and the figurine returned.  
  
They walked into the passageway, and Ron threw the cloak from their shoulders. He tapped the knob inside the tree again. He didn't want anyone following them.  
  
"Oh, it's nice to be back in the fresh air," she said, shaking out her arms and stretching her neck.  
  
"Sorry," he said. "Where we're headed—I know it's not the nicest place, but it was the all I could think of."  
  
"Good thinking, using that phoenix," she told him. "I wonder if the tree would be fooled by the invisibility cloak alone."  
  
"Doesn't work. I tested it last night. Bloody tree nearly took my head off."  
  
"You chanced being smashed to bits by that tree and didn't take anyone with you?"  
  
Ron found he didn't really have a good answer for her, so he shrugged helplessly at her instead. Hermione shook her head, and he led her through the rest of the corridor.  
  
They emerged into the main room of the Shrieking Shack, and he could see that the work he had done in darkness the night before didn't look quite as good in the afternoon light. He knew he'd cast scouring charm after scouring charm, but now he could see all the places he'd missed.  
  
"Upstairs?" she asked him, and he nodded in response. She started down the hallway to the staircase, and he followed her. He'd done more work upstairs than he had in the main room, and he hoped it would show.  
  
He held his breath as they emerged into the upstairs bedroom. It looked almost as good as he'd hoped it would. His scouring charms had been much more effective here, and the mending spells he'd perfected back in fourth year when his dress robes had been so tatty had worked rather well on the four-poster and the bed hangings.  
  
" _Cereus lumena_ ," he whispered, tracing a small circle in the air with his wand. The twenty or so candles he'd managed to transfigure lit themselves. He crossed to the only window in the room, and pulled the curtains shut. He'd tried to switch the color from their dank brown to more of a blue, but he could see now that he hadn't affected them that much.  
  
"I'm sorry it's not nicer, Hermione," he apologized.  
  
"You must have worked all night," she said, her voice breathy with wonder. "You must be exhausted."  
  
"I should be, but I'm not. All I can think about is you."  
  
She started to say something, but he wasn't finished yet. She knew him so well, but he wanted to make sure she was really thinking before she took this step with him. Once he'd made love to her, he knew he would never want to let her go.  
  
"Hermione, I tried and tried to think of something to say to you. I'm not brilliant like you are, so I'll probably get it all wrong. I know I don't have a lot of money or security to offer you. I know I'm rushing things when I talk about spending the rest of our lives together, but ever since you told me you loved me back I can't imagine things any other way. All I can promise you is that I'll love you forever, and that once we get out of school, I'll make something of myself. I'll protect you with my life, and I'll always be yours." He'd run out of things to say, although he wished he had something eloquent to add. "I just wanted you to know that," he said, uncertainly, and finally dared to look at her.  
  
She sat on the edge of the bed, shocked into silence. Her eyes fell to the floor. He tried to read her expression, but couldn't. He kneeled in front of her and looked into her eyes. She reached out a hand and cupped his cheek, and he shut his eyes and concentrated on how soft her skin was against his.  
  
"I never thought I'd mean that much to anyone. You don't need to wait until we leave Hogwarts to make something of yourself. You are the finest person I know. And I love you."


	12. No Going Back

He moved toward her and captured her lips with his. His hand found the back of her head, hidden beneath her abundant locks of hair, and she opened her mouth and let him taste her. She tasted sweet from the butterbeer, but with an undertone that was undeniably Hermione.  
  
Her hands slid up and down his chest and he could feel the soft flannel of his shirt rubbing against his skin. He shrugged out of his cloak to remove the first of the barriers between them.  
  
She pulled lightly on his arms; not enough to unbalance him, but enough to make it clear that she wanted him on the bed with her. He rested his hip on the blanket next to her, and she leaned back, her shoulders flattening against the bed. Instinctively, he moved his upper body over hers, careful not to crush her.  
  
As they kissed, Ron felt Hermione's tiny fingers begin to battle with the buttons on his shirt. He could feel each of them as they popped open, and he drew in a gasp against her lips as he felt her hands on his bare chest for the first time.  
  
He pulled away from her, just enough to regain some control over his own thoughts. Soon he wouldn't be able to speak, and they still had a few things to discuss.  
  
"Hermione," he gasped, as her lips found the pulse point on his neck. "We—I didn't think about how we'll—I have a lot of brothers, Hermione."  
  
Her eyes, which had been heavy-lidded and perhaps the most exciting thing Ron had ever seen, narrowed a bit with confusion.  
  
"Ron, are you saying your brothers are going to have words with me for taking advantage of you?"  
  
"What? No! I just mean, well, my mum and dad had a lot of kids, Hermione. And I don't think now would be the time to find out if that's something they passed on to me."  
  
"Oh! That. Ron, I took care of that yesterday. You don't need to worry."  
  
"Are you sure?" She glared at him a bit, and he realized he'd insinuated she'd done a substandard job of whatever potion or spell she'd had to do. "No, of course you are."  
  
He could feel how he'd interrupted the mood, and he wasn't quite sure how to start again. He took a chance, and he rubbed the back of his hand lightly against her abdomen. She reached up for him, and he leaned over to begin kissing her again.  
  
She opened the last two buttons of his shirt and pushed it from his shoulders. He took it off, feeling a little exposed in front of her. His hand played over the zipper at the neck of her jumper, and he tugged it down, just a bit. He pulled back to watch her face, to make sure she was still all right.  
  
She stared up at him, her eyes wide, the candlelight illuminating her face and throwing her features into delicate relief. He looked for something in her eyes, anything to show him she was ready for this. She blinked, and nodded at him. He kissed her again as he pulled the zipper downward, so slowly it was almost killing him. When her jumper was finally parted down the center, he pushed both sides away. Her skin spellbound him, glowing alabaster before him.  
  
His hand spread across her stomach, and her muscles twitched under his touch. Her eyes closed, and she arched her back against the bed, pressing herself against his hand.  
  
"You're more amazing than I imagined, Hermione," he breathed. "And I imagined a lot."  
  
She smiled, her eyes still closed. Her hand trailed up to his, covering the back of his hand with her palm. She pushed gently, urging his hand upward. He realized where she was leading him, and he took in a deep breath and held it.  
  
His hand covered her breast, and he traced the skin at the edge of her bra with his fingers. He wondered how he could touch her, what she would like. Her hand squeezed his shoulder, and she used that as leverage to sit up.  
  
"Help me, Ron?" she asked, and he wasn't sure what to do. "Hold me up?"  
  
He supported her at her waist, kissing her as she slipped her arms out of her jumper. She reached behind her back, and in one fluid motion, he heard the snaps at the back of her bra come undone.  
  
She crossed her arms in front of her chest, and he could feel her hesitation. He laid her back against the bed, and pulled each of the straps down her arms. He was careful not to shift the fabric she still held against herself. That decision was hers.  
  
He gently stroked her hair away from her face, and she shifted under him. She pulled her arms away from her chest, allowing her bra to fall to the side.  
  
Her hand found his again and she guided him, silently giving him permission to touch her. He cupped one breast in his hand, amazed at how different it felt from what he'd anticipated. She was warm and soft, but her nipple was hard and defined against his palm. He traced a circle around it, letting his finger play over her. He was trying to be gentle, but his hands were shaking with nervousness. He accidentally grazed her with his fingernail, and she gasped. He pulled his hand away, upset that he'd hurt her.  
  
"Bloody hell, Hermione, I'm sorry."  
  
"N—no, Ron, it's all right," she stammered. "It felt nice."  
  
He looked at her in wonder. "What did it feel like?" Her brow furrowed, and he realized she was frustrated at not being able to find words to describe it.  
  
Instead of answering him, she reached up and grazed the tip of her finger across his nipple, and he couldn't believe anything could feel like that. She switched to her fingernail, tracing a gentle, lazy pattern over him and he had to shut his eyes with the sudden perfection of it. She sat up and closed her mouth around his hardened nipple, and he heard a growl come from his throat.  
  
"Hermione, that's brilliant," he whispered against her hair. She tugged on him gently with her teeth, and a sharp breath was forced into his lungs. "I—I don't think I'm supposed to like that this much."  
  
She tilted her head back, and he frowned at the broken contact.  
  
"Why not? You seem to like it quite a bit." She smiled and moved toward him again, but Ron was ready for her.  
  
He shifted his weight to flatten her back onto the bed, and held her shoulder down with just enough pressure to keep her from pushing herself back up. His head dipped down and he took her nipple into his mouth, trying each of the things she'd done to him. Contrary to his fears, he could tell what worked and what didn't. He could feel her stretch toward him or hear her breathing change when he found a particularly sensitive spot. She twisted her legs toward him and pressed against him, and he faltered in his rhythm.  
  
Her hands played over his back, but he could feel them venturing lower. They finally slipped inside the back pockets of his trousers, and she pulled him closer to her. It made him want to rip the rest of their clothes off, and to hell with the preliminaries. The singular thought that he had to be inside her, now, echoed in his head over and over.  
  
His hand found the catch at the waistband of her jeans, and as he started to claw ineffectively at it, she raised her hips toward his hand. All he could hear was the sound of their breathing and his own heartbeat. There could be an army of Death Eaters, led by Voldemort, coming up the stairs just now and he would never hear them.  
  
The button finally came undone, and he pulled the zipper down as soon as his fingers found it. He flattened his hand and slid it just inside the zipper, feeling the flat of her stomach. He moved to kiss her, and felt her tongue gently explore his mouth. She lifted her hips against his hand, silently urging him on.  
  
Her hands abandoned his pockets, and moved to the front to fumble with the button and zipper of his trousers. She was much more adept than he had been, and soon he felt her tugging downward at his waistband. He lifted his hips from the bed to help her, and she pushed his trousers down toward his knees. He pulled away from her to finish the job, and she whimpered when he broke contact. He removed the trousers as quickly as he could, kicking out of his shoes and pulling his socks away before he returned to her.  
  
He pulled away to nip at her neck, and spoke against her throat. "I seem to be at a disadvantage."  
  
He bent to slip off her shoes and socks, and then took hold of the waistband of her jeans. He tugged at it and she lifted her hips from the bed. He looked up to lock eyes with her, and saw her, vulnerable and trembling. She was achingly beautiful. He slid the jeans down her legs, trying desperately to stay the shaking of his own hands. When she was free of them, they joined the rest of their clothes on the floor next to the bed.  
  
"Ron?" she said, her voice low and strained. "I'm so afraid."  
  
"We can stop, Hermione."  
  
"No, no. You've misunderstood," she whispered. "I'm scared because I know now that this is about to happen. I want this so much. So much that it frightens me."  
  
"I'm terrified," he confessed. "I don't want to hurt you. I'm afraid I don't know what I'm doing."  
  
"Don't worry, Ron. I don't know what I'm doing either. We'll just have to figure it out together."  
  
"I love you." He kissed her gently on her stomach, and was amazed at how smooth her skin was.  
  
"I love you too."  
  
Ron's hand found the waistband of that final barrier hiding her from his view. Again, he looked to her for permission, and she closed her eyes and took a deep breath. After a moment, she nodded her head and shifted her weight to help him. His hands, shaking so badly now that he could hardly control them, found the thin layer of fabric and pulled down.  
  
When she was completely revealed to him, he saw her petite frame, the lines of her legs, the swells of her breasts, and the still mysterious, exotically unfamiliar area at the apex of her thighs.  
  
"Hermione, you're gorgeous." It sounded so dumb when he heard it out loud, but Hermione smiled and blushed at him. She sat up and kissed him, her breasts grazing against his chest, and he lost the ability to talk.  
  
He leaned against her, gently pushing her toward the bed, and he felt her tugging at the waistband of his boxer shorts. Then the chill of the room was all around him, except where he pressed against Hermione. His flesh tingled with awareness everywhere they were touching.  
  
Her hand played over his stomach as he settled onto his side next to her. It strayed lower, and he began to feel dizzy.  
  
When her fingers closed around him, he took in a slow breath, desperately trying to calm himself. He could feel himself dangerously near the edge, and he knew there was so much more he wanted to do before he let his control falter.  
  
Hermione traced him with her fingers, and he knew she was indulging her curiosity about what he was like in a way only she could. He looked into her eyes, and found wonder mixed with desire. He kissed her, and let his own hand slip down her body and come to rest between her legs.  
  
He wanted to learn her body the way he had learned the rest of her. He wanted to know her body better than she knew it herself, the same way he sometimes knew what she was going to say before she did. He wanted to be able to close his eyes and recall this, to memorize her as she was right now, and to have it for the rest of his life. They'd never have this moment again, when they would truly learn each other for the first time.  
  
Ron touched her, learning every detail. He watched her face as he touched her experimentally, waiting to see her reaction so he would learn what she liked, what she needed him to do. He moved his hand, pressing his fingertip against her and she gasped. He wasn't even sure what he was doing, but her eyes fluttered closed as she strained against him. He settled into a slow rhythm, making tiny circles over her, slower sometimes, then faster. He tried pressing harder to see if she would like that more, and her fingernails dug into his skin.  
  
He moved faster, fascinated at the heat radiating from her and how it seemed to warm his entire body. Hermione's breaths came faster, shallower, and her hips rose to meet him. He needed to be inside her—now—he didn't care how. He let one finger slip into her, and she closed around it, tight, warm, and amazing.  
  
She threw her head back, her cheeks red and her hair wild against the bed. Her body tensed around him, and soft, wordless noises escaped her lips. She shuddered beneath him, and he could feel each tremor as they swept through her body.  
  
She was exactly as he'd known she would be. As powerful as she was when casting a spell. As intense as she was whenever her time in the library had finally yielded the piece of information likely to save their necks. As fierce as she was when they fought with each other. Every bit as brilliantly, blindingly lovely as she had become to him since they'd first met.  
  
She blinked, her eyes heavy-lidded, their deep brown almost black in the candlelight.  
  
"You're amazing," he told her, and she smiled just a bit.  
  
"No, you're amazing," she said, her voice low and slightly deeper than normal. "Please, Ron. I need you." She pulled on his shoulder, and his stomach tightened with nerves.  
  
"You're sure?"  
  
She looked back at him, her eyes widening in surprise. "Of course I am. I need you. I need you with me."  
  
He realized he'd been half-expecting one of them to put a stop to things. He'd secretly thought Hermione would lose her nerve, or that he'd decide they should wait. She deserved a nicer place than this, and for things not to seem so rushed, as if time was closing in around them.  
  
"You'll tell me if I'm hurting you?" he asked her.  
  
"I won't break, Ron. You'll hurt me a bit, but just for a moment. It will be fine."  
  
He looked at her again and had no idea how he should move over her. He rested one knee between her legs, and she moved to accommodate him. He moved again, bracing his weight on his forearms, and found himself hovering over her. They kissed, and his anxiety began to melt away. He felt the need to be inside her again, stronger this time.  
  
He moved to enter her, trying to find the right angle. Her hand slipped between their bodies, and she helped to guide him. He pushed slowly into her. He was aching to bury himself deep within her, but he knew he had to be gentle. There was a barrier resisting him, and he hesitated at the idea of hurting her.  
  
"Keep going," she whispered to him in a strained voice.  
  
He tried to apologize to her with his eyes, and he pushed through the resistance. She tensed for just a second, and then she relaxed in his arms.  
  
"Are you all right?"  
  
"It—it wasn't too bad. And the pain is gone now."  
  
Hermione moved experimentally against him, and Ron groaned into her ear. He bit her earlobe, and she moved against him a second time. He pulled away, and then moved to fill her again. She met him with her hips, and he felt completely surrounded by her.  
  
He moved faster now, leaving her and returning again and again. She hooked one leg around his waist, and it changed the way their bodies moved against each other.  
  
"Ron," she whispered his name into his ear. He answered back with her name, and kissed her. Their lips stayed together as he moved even faster, his heart racing, his control threatening to break.  
  
He shut his eyes; it was exquisite torture. He wanted so badly for this to continue as long as he was able to last, but there was something quite amazing, more powerful than anything he’d experienced before just out of his reach. There was nothing in the world but the feeling building within him and the sensation of Hermione all around him. She enveloped him and he was lost within her. Hermione was the beginning and the end of him, the reason his heart was beating.  
  
The last of his restraint broke, and wave after wave of a feeling he would never be able to describe washed over him. He was light-headed, and his head filled with thoughts and images of her, as if she was burnt into him.  
  
He relaxed against her, staying there, and he could feel her hand running through his hair as his head rested on her chest. When he began to get some of his sense back, he realized how much of his weight he was pressing onto her. With great regret, he left her and shifted to her side. She whimpered as he pulled away, and he was stunned at how affected she was by his sudden absence.  
  
"I was crushing you," he explained, kissing her softly on the neck.  
  
"I didn't care."  
  
He pulled her closer, lying on his side and pulling her back flush against his chest. They molded together, and soon fell into a deep sleep.


	13. The Departure

"Hermione, I want you to take her," Harry insisted, and he held Hedwig's cage out to her for the third time.  
  
"Oh, Harry. I can't. What if you need her? This could be dangerous. What if something happened to her?"  
  
"Listen," Ron told her, "Harry's going to keep offering until you take him up on it. I'd have you take Pig, but Hedwig is three times the owl Pig is."  
  
"Come on, Hermione. Tell me you don't trust Hedwig more than a borrowed school owl," Harry added.  
  
"Ginny, you're sure you don't mind looking after Crookshanks?" Hermione asked, abruptly changing the subject.  
  
"Of course not, Hermione. I don't mind at all," Ginny told her, looking as if she was about to cry.  
  
"Oh, Ginny. I'll be fine. I'll be back before you know it," Hermione told her.  
  
"So, you'll take Hedwig then." Harry sat his owl's cage down next to Hermione's bag. "I don't want to argue about it anymore. I'll leave that to Ron. He's better at it than I am, anyway." Harry walked to Hermione, and gave her a brief hug. She whispered something to him that Ron couldn't hear, and Harry smiled at her as they parted.  
  
Ginny gave Hermione a goodbye hug as well. "Be careful. Just letters, all right? Don't even think about going after those Death Eaters yourself." They parted, and Ginny continued, "Wouldn't be a fair fight for the Death Eaters, would it?" Hermione blushed, and Ginny laughed, brushing a tear away from her eyes.  
  
Ginny and Harry left, leaving Ron and Hermione alone in the Gryffindor common room. Everyone else had already left for the holiday break, and they were now alone until Professor McGonagall returned with the portkey that would take Hermione away.  
  
"Hermione, I—" Ron began, and didn't know how to continue. "I'll miss you."  
  
"I'll miss you too."  
  
"If anything happens, I want you to try to stay out of it."  
  
"You mean, the way you or Harry would if you were going? Are you saying you don't think I can take care of myself?" she asked, mostly poking fun at him.  
  
"I know you can, but I just don't want you to take any chances, all right? They don't fight fair—those Unforgivable Curses..." She looked frightened, and that wasn't at all what he'd meant to do. "Just...look out for yourself."  
  
"You too. If anything happens to you, no one will be able to read my messages."  
  
They stood, facing each other in silence. He looked at the single bag she'd packed and he wanted to march it back upstairs and pack everything back into her dresser.  
  
"Remember, Ron, everyone else thinks I'm spending a semester at Beauxbatons. When you write back, don't forget to ask about that."  
  
"I won't." They'd been over this a hundred times, but he knew Hermione was just trying to find a way to fill the silence. "So you'll be near Beauxbatons, then, will you?" he asked.  
  
"Ron, you know Dumbledore doesn't want you or Harry knowing exactly where I am. Yes, I will be in France, at least at first. But I can't tell you anything else."  
  
"I know. I love you," he said.  
  
"If I don't come back—"  
  
"Don't, Hermione. Don't say that."  
  
"I have to. If anything happens to me, there are a few things I want you to know. First, I love you. Second, I don't want you or Harry to do anything rash if you think I'm in danger. Whether they like it or not, we're in the Order now. You can go to them if you need help. Do not go off on your own, even if you think I'm in danger." She gave him a hard look. "Promise me."  
  
"Hermione, if I think you're—" the look on her face stopped him. "All right. I'll go to someone in the Order if I think something's up," he agreed, reluctantly.  
  
"And third, I want you, Harry, and Ginny to take care of each other, no matter what. Peter Pettigrew's lies tore Sirius and Lupin apart after what happened to Harry's parents. I don't want that to happen to the three of you. Trust each other the way I trust all of you."  
  
"Hermione, stop talking like this. Like you're already gone. Nothing is going to happen to you." His heart was beating hard and fast inside his chest. He wanted to believe what he was saying, but his fear for her was getting the better of him.  
  
"I left a letter for you with Harry. He'll give it to you later."  
  
"What is it that you can't tell me now?" he asked, feeling nervous.  
  
"It's just something I want you to have while I'm away. You might need it, so don't lose it."  
  
Before he could ask her about it again, the portrait hole opened and Professor McGonagall ducked through.  
  
"Miss Granger, I'm afraid it's time to send you on your way. Have you packed everything you will need?"  
  
Hermione gestured to the single bag and Hedwig's cage, and answered, "Yes, Professor."  
  
"All right, then." She took out her wand, pointed it at Hermione's bag, and said, " _Portus!_ " It glowed a bright blue and shuddered for a moment, and then it returned to normal. "When you are ready, make sure you have everything and then take hold of your bag. There will be someone you know waiting for you on the other side. Make sure he cancels this portkey when you get there, or you'll find yourself here again the next time you pick up your bag. Now, don't linger here too long. He can't wait for you forever."  
  
"Yes, ma'am," Hermione answered.  
  
"And Miss Granger? Do take care of yourself, won't you?" McGonagall tried to look stern, but Ron could see genuine concern in her eyes. "If you need any help with your Transfiguration, don't hesitate to send me an owl. In fact, the more owls you send referring to your semester at Beauxbatons, the better."  
  
With that, McGonagall left them alone again.  
  
"Well, goodb—" Hermione began, but Ron cut her off.  
  
"I'll see you later, Hermione," he said, and tried to smile at her. Somehow, he just couldn't take hearing her say goodbye to him.  
  
She smiled and looked down at the floor for a moment. "I'll see you later, Ron."  
  
Ron took a deep breath and stepped toward her. She met him and they embraced. He couldn't imagine letting her go. She tilted her head back to look at him and he kissed her, soft at first, but with more urgency as he realized how soon she would be leaving him.  
  
Hermione broke away and stepped back.  
  
"I love you, Ron."  
  
She took Hedwig's cage in her right hand, and hesitated for just a second before she grabbed her bag with her left.  
  
Then she was gone.


	14. The Tree

Harry, Ron, and Ginny sat at the Gryffindor table, picking at their breakfasts sullenly. 

"Have you heard from Hermione recently?" Neville asked them, nearly spilling his pumpkin juice as he reached for another slice of toast. 

Ron just looked at Neville, trying to get himself to answer, but he couldn't bring himself to do it.

"No, not for a week or so," Harry said, and Ron could hear him trying to affect a lightness he didn't feel. "I expect she's busy immersing herself in life at Beauxbatons. She only has one semester there, after all."

"I'm sure we'll be hearing from her soon," Ginny added.

For the first month she'd been away, Hermione had sent information back several times a week. Harry had just lied to Neville; no one had heard from her in nearly two weeks, and the last message she'd sent had been rather disturbing.

Ron remembered sitting in Dumbledore's office, holding Hermione's most recent letter in his hands and reading the real message hidden within it. Hermione, Lupin, two Aurors, and three other members of the Order had been hiding on a small farm in the French countryside. 

A series of unexplained murders and disappearances in the Muggle towns close to Beauxbatons attracted the attention of the Order, and Lupin's group tracked the Death Eaters by watching the Muggle press. They felt the Death Eaters were planning an attack on the French school, and Dumbledore intended to prevent it.

The Death Eaters apparently needed something from those Muggles, but Lupin and the others hadn't been able to discover the direct connection. Ron could feel Hermione's urgency whenever he picked up one of her letters. The longer the answer eluded them, the more Muggles would die at the hands of the Death Eaters.

Against the strict instructions they gave her, she'd begun to assist the three members of the Order staying with them with their research. They fought her at first, but when she began to find things the others had missed, Lupin finally convinced the others to allow her to help them. She'd been optimistic they would find the answer, until she'd sent her last letter. In that, Ron could feel her desperation, her loss of hope.

"Are you all right, Ron?" Neville asked him.

"Yeah, I'm okay," he said, trying to cover his true feelings. "I just miss Hermione."

"Ah, Weasley. You just have to make it 'til the end of term," Seamus said, teasing him. "I'm sure she doesn't care about all those handsome French wizards."

"She probably hasn't taken her nose out of her schoolbooks long enough to even notice there are any," Lavender added, and Parvati sniggered behind her hand. Ron gave them a cold look and they blanched.

Just then, several owls breezed into the Great Hall, delivering letters and packages to some of the students. Ron looked up hopefully, scanning the air for a glimpse of Hedwig's distinctive snowy white feathers. He knew Harry and Ginny were doing the same.

He looked back at the table, suddenly unable to continue hoping that Hedwig would be there. The previous two weeks had worn him thin. He'd missed more than a handful of classes, and had the surprise of his life when McGonagall had gotten him excused from many of the absences. He couldn't concentrate on anything other than Hermione's last letter, and what he couldn't stop thinking was that it might be the last time he heard from her.

"Ron!" Harry hissed into his ear. "It's Hedwig!"

"Oh, no!" Ginny said. "Look at her leg!"

Hedwig landed with difficulty on the Gryffindor table in front of Ron, nearly toppling over as she balanced on one leg. A piece of parchment had been tied to her other leg, which was clearly injured, and there were large patches of missing feathers and spots of blood on both of her wings. The other Gryffindors at the table were whispering to each other and staring at Harry's owl. Hedwig quietly hooted at Ron, and held out her injured leg further until Ron reached for the parchment.

"Harry," Ron said to him, quietly, "get her to Hagrid's." Harry looked uncertainly back at Ron, and then looked at Hedwig again. "She must have gotten caught in some bad weather, Harry. I'm sure Hagrid can fix her up," he said, louder, for the benefit of everyone else at the table.

"Right, Ron. Come on, Hedwig." Harry scooped up his owl, cradling her gently in his arms.

Ron stood, carefully handling the letter by its string until he could read it on his own. His instructions were to take any new letters straight to Dumbledore, but he had to be alone when he read this one for the first time. He knew he should be relieved that she was still out there somewhere, able to write to him, but he had a terrible feeling about this letter and he just couldn't get it to go away.

Ron left the Great Hall and walked toward the doors leading to the courtyard where he'd once picked her up and spun her around, just after she'd told him she loved him back. It would be fiercely cold there, but he didn't care. It was where he needed to be, and no one else was crazy enough to follow him out there.

~-~

After looking around to make sure he was alone, Ron tore at the string around the roll of parchment with his rapidly numbing fingers. When he was finally able to untie the knot, he took the letter into both hands and began to read.

The written letter was short, and he scanned it quickly. In a rather forced tone, Hermione had described some of the classes she was supposed to be taking at Beauxbatons. He tried to let the words fade away and see the image she had implanted in the parchment, but it was eluding him. 

"Concentrate," he said to himself. He stared at the words, willing them to jumble and blur the way he needed them to if he was going to be able to read Hermione's true message.

He read the letter again, and noticed something new this time. It wasn't just addressed to him. It was addressed to Harry as well.

Ron set off in the direction of Hagrid's hut, to find Harry and see if the two of them could read the message together. His mind raced as he ran, trying to understand why she would have done this. There must be some reason she needed Harry to see the message as well, and it must be for something important.

He began to breathe harder as he cut through a garden, leaping over flowerbeds full of wilting, browning plants. He was nearing the edge of the Forbidden Forest, and he could now see Hagrid's hut. Harry jogged toward it from the other direction, moving as quickly as he could without jarring Hedwig.

"Harry!" Ron called, between gasps. "Harry!"

Ron saw his friend's head jerk toward him, and Ron ran faster to close the gap between them.

"Take care of Hedwig," Ron choked out, "but then I need you to look at this." Ron held out the letter, pointing at the line at the top addressing it to both of them.

"All righ', what's all this?" Hagrid said, holding the door to his hut open with one hand, and Fang's collar with the other. "Harry, your owl," he said, stepping outside and letting the door slam behind him. "Wha's happened to her?"

"She was injured, Hagrid. Bringing us word from Hermione," Ron said, trying to keep his voice low.

"Yeh'd bes' come inside, then. C'mon. We'll see ter Hedwig and then straigh' ter Dumbledore wit' the both of yeh!" Hagrid let them inside, and began to attend to Hedwig's injuries.

"Harry, look. I think we both have to read it." Ron held out the parchment to Harry, letting him take one side while Ron held the other. "Start reading. Maybe you'll see something I couldn't."

The two boys began to read, and Ron felt a wave of relief when the parchment blurred before him.

Ron saw flashes of Hermione, Lupin, and the others packing and using vanishing spells on everything in the farmhouse so there wouldn't be any evidence left behind. The Aurors and researchers Apparated away, but Lupin created a portkey and used it, along with Hermione. 

They ended up in a field, and Lupin seemed surprised to be there. The sky was pitch black, and Ron could barely make out any details. There was a huge tree at the far end of the field. He tried to focus on it, but it was too far away. He ran closer to it, and had waves of dread overcome him with every step he took toward it.

When he got close enough to get a better look, he wasn't sure he could trust his eyes. The bark on the tree was oddly smooth—a deep, reddish-brown. Several branches of the tree hung low, their large, flat leaves almost level with his eyes. He reached out to pull one from the tree, but it wasn't solid under his fingers. With a start, he pulled his hand away, It was covered in something warm and deep red.

It was blood.

He wanted to turn and run, get far away from this monstrous thing, but he told himself he needed to see more. Hermione needed him to see this, and he'd only understand why if he saw every detail of what she'd sent him. He forced himself to walk closer, and he put his hand flat against the base of the tree. He couldn't place what it felt like right away. It was cold, just as cold as the leaves had been warm. It wasn't like bark at all. It wasn't rough. It was almost soft, and it was smooth, except for long gashes that ran around the circumference of the tree.

He tried to identify it. It was like trying to think of a word when it just wouldn't come. There was a way to describe it and he just couldn't—

Ron's stomach turned.

It felt like skin. Cold, dead skin.

Ron released the parchment and the image disappeared, replaced with the comforting familiarity of Hagrid's hut. He looked at Harry, who had already let go.

"What took you so long?" Harry asked him.

"I didn't want to look at it at first," he admitted. "What do you think it means?"

"I think Hermione wants us to check that book Sirius and Lupin gave me last year for Christmas. Everything she showed me was fuzzy, except for me and the book. Then the image vanished. It's that book she was showing me. I'm sure of it."

"Harry, that's not what I saw at all." Ron described the tree he'd seen to Harry.

"The two messages have got to be connected. I bet you she showed you what we should be looking for information about, and she showed me the book she thought we'd find it in. She took an awful chance, sending that message to both of us. You couldn't read your half without me, right?"

"Nope," Ron answered. "But I probably would have missed the book if she'd shown your half to me."

"Ron, if she could send such a complicated message, I'm sure she's all right. Lupin must have gotten her somewhere safe."

Ron looked down at his hands, and realized he'd been wringing them together.

"But where is she, Harry? I didn't see her at all. I wish she'd shown us she was safe."

"Jus' never the two of yeh mind where Hermione is. I'm sure Dumbledore knows, an' tha's the only person who needs ter know, all righ'?" Hagrid carefully handed Harry his owl. Hagrid had bandaged Hedwig's leg and applied some sort of paste to the worst of the wounds.

"Thanks for taking care of Hedwig, Hagrid," Harry said. "Do you think she's okay to go to the Owlery, or should we keep an eye on her?"

"Should be fine there, I expect," Hagrid told him. "Tha' was no accident, though, Harry. Someone wanted that letter an' near as I could see, tried ter kill Hedwig fer it. Mus' be important, so get yourselves ter Dumbledore." He pushed the boys outside, holding back a madly barking Fang until the door slammed shut.


	15. The Fidelius Orb

"Come on, Harry. Let's go." Ron began to jog back to the castle.

"Wait!" Harry called after him, running to catch up. "We should go get the book from my trunk first. Hermione showed it to me for a reason. Dumbledore will probably send me to get it anyway."

"You're right." Ron changed directions, running toward the entrance to the castle that would put them closest to Gryffindor Tower. His grip on Hermione's letter shifted as he ran, and he almost tripped over his own feet when a new image came to him. He stopped, and he could distantly hear the sound of Harry's running as he flew past him.

Ron clutched the parchment more firmly, and a weaker, almost transparent scene appeared to him. Someone in a black cloak had Hermione by the arm, and they were pulling her roughly through the field she'd shown him before. They reached a small cabin with a large wooden door, which opened into a darkened, empty room with a single dirty window. 

Her captor shoved her inside, and she stumbled and fell to her knees. Hedwig's cage and the bag she'd been carrying fell to the ground, and then a second person landed heavily beside Hermione on the dusty floor of the room. The door slammed shut and Ron could hear two people talking outside about what to do with their captives. One of them called the other Goyle, and Ron barely suppressed the desire to find his son and take out his anger on him.

Hermione wasted no time, pulling her wand from her pocket and a letter from her bag. She looked nervously around, and then swished her wand to begin the message charm. The image disappeared just then, and Ron swore.

"I don't know how she did it, but there was a second message from Hermione. They've got her, Harry. They took her and someone else, and she just managed to get this letter out with Hedwig. It's a good thing it was Goyle's father who captured them. No one else would have been thick enough to leave her with her wand."

"Where are they? Did you see?"

"It's that field. I haven't got a clue where that could be. That tree's there. Maybe it's in the book, Harry. Come on, we're wasting time."

They sprinted the rest of the way to their room, tearing through crowds of students on their way to the first lesson of the day. 

~-~ 

"Harry! Ron! Where are you going? We have Potions in five minutes!" Dean Thomas yelled to them as they nearly knocked him over.

"We're going to be late!" Harry yelled back.   


"Because of Harry's owl!" Ron added.

"Good one," Harry told Ron, under his breath as they ascended the staircases to their dormitory.

"Well, it's not entirely a lie. Not really. It is because of what happened to Hedwig."

They took the steps up to their room two at a time, Harry nearly stumbling over the last set. Harry ran to his trunk and wrenched it open, pushing things aside until he found his copy of _Practical Defensive Magic and Its Use Against the Dark Arts_.

"Should we look at it now?" Harry asked Ron, who was rummaging in his own trunk. "What are you looking for?" 

"All of Hermione's other letters," Ron answered. "I'm bringing everything with me. She might have hidden a clue I missed."

Harry's mouth dropped open and his eyes widened, as if he'd suddenly realized something.

"Where's the letter Hermione left with me, the one I gave you after she left?" Harry asked Ron.

"It's in here. Why? She couldn't have left a clue for us there. She hadn't even left yet."

"She told me to make sure you read the whole thing," Harry admitted. "When I said goodbye to her."

"You never told me that!"

"I didn't think I'd have to! I thought if that message was about, well, what I thought it was about, you'd be more than happy to read it all the way through."

Ron shook his head ruefully. "Look, get to Dumbledore. Tell him what we saw in this letter. If there's a second message in this one, I'll find it and I'll be right behind you."

Harry turned and ran. Ron sat on the edge of his bed, taking Hermione's letter from the envelope he'd stored it in, and Hermione’s message charm immediately assaulted him.

The beginning was familiar. He'd watched this bit a fair few times. They walked up the steps to the second floor of the Shrieking Shack, and he watched himself light the candles with a few words and a twitch of his wand. He heard his halting, uncertain speech to her, and watched as he kneeled in front of her.

He desperately wanted to look away. Seeing this, knowing the danger she was in and that he might never see her alive again hurt him more than he could bear. He was about to re-experience the moment he felt truly joined together with her, but this time he knew he might be about to lose her forever.

He could feel her hands on him, how soft her lips were, what her body felt like next to his. He tried to relax, but it was quite difficult. He was having trouble distinguishing between the present and the images in his mind. He watched himself move to cover Hermione, and a wave of desire for her washed over him.

He tried to think of something else, to distract himself until the memory was over, but he couldn't. It was difficult to see himself this way, and watching this made him miss Hermione so much he thought it would drive him mad. This letter was just like the Mirror of Erised, showing him this perfect moment Hermione had given him. He could get lost here, wither and die, if the memory didn't end soon.

Finally, he watched the two of them curl up together and fall asleep, and the memory faded. He waited, hoping a second message would appear to him.

Just as he began to lose hope, he saw an image of Hermione walking into Dumbledore's office.

"Hello, Miss Granger," Dumbledore said to her, and Ron watched Hermione try to smile at him in return. "I see Professor McGonagall has delivered my message."

"She did," Hermione answered. "She told me you had something for me before I leave."

Dumbledore produced a small, wooden box, which he opened to reveal a glowing orb.

"This is a Fidelius Orb. Have you heard of it before?"

Hermione shook her head, staring with great interest at the silvery-blue sphere.

"It is related to the Fidelius Charm, which I assume you are familiar with, as it once protected Harry and still does protect 12 Grimmauld Place."

"Yes, sir. It's a quite complex spell, used to hide someone or something," Hermione said, her voice taking on the tone it always did when she quoted from a book she'd read. "Someone has to serve as the caster, and another as the Secret Keeper. The secret is stored within the Secret Keeper. The person or place being hidden will remain that way unless the Secret Keeper betrays the caster."

"Indeed. Well, this is quite a rare item. Many would tell you it is only a legend, in fact."

"What does it do, Professor Dumbledore?"

"Contrary to the Fidelius charm, a Fidelius Orb locates a person. The owner of the orb, as a matter of fact. But the orb can be used only by the chosen secret-holder."

"It's fascinating," Hermione said, her voice breathy with wonder as Dumbledore removed the orb from its box and placed it in her hand.

"I do not think it is wise for any of us to know where you, Remus Lupin, or the others are. If you were discovered, you would be in grave danger. Trusting anyone with your exact whereabouts is a chance I am not willing to take. Remus is, as yet, the only person who knows your true destination. None of you will Apparate or Portkey directly to it.

"Whisper a name to this orb, Miss Granger, and that person becomes the secret-holder. Only that person can unlock the orb and use it to find you. You must also use a secret phrase, something important to you and the person you've chosen. I will leave you alone with the orb. When you have finished with it, please leave it on my desk. Then you may return to your packing."

Dumbledore looked at her with great sadness for a moment, and Hermione seemed to sense what had caused his hesitation.

"I want nothing more than to help the Order, Professor. I'm not having any second thoughts about volunteering."

Dumbledore held her eyes for several moments, and then quietly left her alone in his office.

Hermione took the orb into her hands, and it turned from iridescent blue to a deep red. She held it close to her lips, and whispered to it.

"Ron Weasley," she began, and a small smile came to her lips as she paused. "Abuse of prefect privileges."


	16. The Two Pawns Gambit

Ron gave Dumbledore's staircase the current password, _Pepper Imps_ , and waited impatiently on the steps as the staircase ascended toward the office above.  


Harry and Dumbledore were talking when he entered, but he couldn't wait even a moment before asking the question that had dominated his thoughts since he'd put Hermione's letter back inside his trunk. 

"Where's the orb?" Ron demanded.

Harry looked confused, but Dumbledore merely looked at Ron for a moment before he produced the wooden box. Dumbledore removed the cover, and the Fidelius Orb glowed blue against the deep brown of the wood.

"I assumed Miss Granger would choose you or Harry," Dumbledore said, and he removed the orb from its box and handed it to Ron. When it touched Ron's skin, it turned from blue to red, just as it had for Hermione.

Ron bent his head toward it and was about to whisper Hermione's phrase to it when Dumbledore stopped him.

"We are too far away to activate the orb."

"Right," Ron said determinedly. "How do I get closer to where she might be? Can I take a Portkey?"

"I do understand your haste, Mr. Weasley, and I intend to waste little time before we set out. Nymphadora Tonks, Kingsley Shacklebolt, and Alastor Moody will be accompanying us."

"And me," Harry added. "If Ron's going, I'm going. She's my friend too."

Dumbledore sat in his chair for a moment, looking at both of them before he answered.

"I believe it is time I accept that the three of you have become true members of the Order. You are both, however, to stay close to Tonks and Kingsley at all times."

With that matter settled much more easily than Ron had anticipated, he found himself at a loss. He looked down at Harry's book, opened to a page near the back, and he picked it up.

"It's called the Tree of Blood, Ron," Harry explained. "It's ancient magic, like the spell Voldemort used to get his body back. That's why they've been sacrificing those Muggles. They used them to transform that tree into what you saw in Hermione's message."

"Why? What does it do?"

"When fully transformed, a potion made from its leaves will allow the person who drinks it to pass through any magical wards, unseen," Dumbledore explained.

"You mean, like the wards that protect Hogwarts?" Ron gasped.

"And Beauxbatons," Harry added, looking at Ron with worry. "We have to find Hermione and destroy that tree. Dumbledore can take us to where Lupin met Hermione when she left here by Portkey. From there, it's up to you, Ron."

"How do we destroy the tree, though?" Ron asked.

"Moody and I will deal with the tree," Dumbledore answered. "You and Harry are to stay with Nymphadora and Kingsley. You will each have a Portkey with you, which will return you to Hogwarts. You are to use them to return with Hermione as soon as you find her, or if you find yourselves in grave danger."

Ron and Harry nodded, although Ron knew neither of them would ever touch their Portkey until they found Hermione.

"When do we go?" Ron asked.

"If you have your wands with you, then we can leave immediately." Dumbledore turned an old quill lying on his desk into a Portkey, and they gathered around it.

"Are you ready?" Dumbledore asked them, and they nodded in return. "Then we shall leave in three, two, one—"

Ron felt the unmistakable lurch in the pit of his stomach that came from traveling a long distance via Portkey. He felt slightly dizzy and sick as images whirled around him, and then the world around him came to an abrupt stop.

He steadied himself and raised his wand, looking around for anything that could put them in danger.

"It looks deserted," Harry said.

Ron stiffened as he caught movement out of the corner of his eye. He turned to face it, wand out, when he recognized Tonks, who was wobbling a bit before she found her balance after Apparating. 

Her hair was short and jet-black, instead of the purple it had been the last time Ron had seen her. Mad-Eye Moody and Kingsley Shacklebolt had appeared to her left and right, each of them dressed in plain black cloaks.

Ron removed the Fidelius Orb from his pocket and held it in the palm of his left hand.

"Abuse of prefect privileges," he whispered to it, and gasped when it levitated just over his hand. Its color changed again, from the deep red it had been before he had given it Hermione's phrase to a pulsating silvery-white.

"Ah, yes. I see you have activated the orb," Dumbledore said to Ron. "It will turn green when we grow closer to Hermione's present location. Try taking a few steps. When it begins to change color, we will know which way to go."

Ron took a few steps in different directions, watching the orb carefully as he moved.

"Here! Professor. It's this way." Ron began to run, and the orb bounced wildly over his hand, its color changing a bit with each stride.

Harry caught up to him, starting to breathe harder. "Ron, mate. You have to slow down. Hermione could be miles away, and we all have to stay together. Tonks and Kingsley could probably keep up, but I don't think Moody and Dumbledore have much of a chance."

Ron expelled a sharp, frustrated breath, but he knew Harry was right. Ron slowed his pace to a quick walk, concentrating on the shade of the orb as he went. As it became a slightly deeper green, he wondered what they would do when they found her. Surely, there would be Death Eaters guarding her. How many, they had no way of knowing. He grasped his wand tighter, and took a quick look at Harry.

"So, Harry. Have a plan?" Ron asked him.

"I suppose. Stupefy or hex anything that moves, as long as it's not Hermione."

Ron smiled at him. "That easy, eh?"

"Do you think we should let Tonks have some of the fun?" Harry asked him.

"Why not?" The orb turned a darker shade of green, and Ron scanned the horizon for anything that looked familiar from Hermione's message charm. They were walking up a hill, and judging by the state of the orb, they should be able to see their destination once they reached the top.

"Almost there, do you think, Ron?" Harry said.

"Do you think she's all right?" Ron asked, immediately wishing he hadn't said it aloud.

"Of course," Harry answered, too quickly. Ron stared at him for a moment, and Harry seemed to reconsider. "I don't know, Ron. But I don't know what either of us will do if she's not."

Ron walked, unable to say anything in return. The top of the hill seemed like it was still a mile away.

"Weasley! Potter!" Moody called to them, his voice just loud enough for them to hear. "Looks like your tree, just there." Moody pointed at a canopy of dark red leaves just visible over the crest of the hill.

"That's it!" Ron whispered. He looked at Harry, who looked as if he wanted to take off running after Hermione just as much as he wanted to himself.

Ron was vaguely aware of Dumbledore, Moody, Tonks, and Shacklebolt making final plans. He and Harry were supposed to follow Shacklebolt and Tonks, and they were all to ignore anything happening near the tree. They would all Apparate or Portkey back to safety when their missions were complete, or in Harry and Ron's case, if they found themselves in danger. Ron could feel the rock Dumbledore had turned into a return Portkey weighing down his pocket, and he knew he would never use it unless Hermione's hand closed around it along with his own.

It seemed to take forever before Dumbledore sent Tonks and Shacklebolt on their way with a wave of his hand. Harry and Ron fell in behind them, and they moved as quietly as they could up and over the hill.

Ron's heart leapt when he saw the cabin Hermione had shown him in her last letter. He scanned the area around it, and saw only one person leaning against the cabin's door. Tonks turned to them and pointed to the far side of cabin, apparently indicating that they would circle around the back to take the lone Death Eater by surprise.

"You know his son," Tonks whispered into Ron's ear. "That's Goyle."

"Blimey, Tonks," Ron whispered back. "If he's the only one here, it's really not a fair fight."

"We captured a lot of Death Eaters after that mess at the Department of Mysteries last year," Tonks replied, nearly tripping over her own feet as she made her way down the hill toward the rear of the cabin. "He might be the only guard."

Ron kept his eyes on the cabin as they walked. Next to him, Harry held out his wand, ready to Stupefy anything that got in their way.

"Suppose Hermione would forgive me if I stun her on accident?" Harry asked, and Ron couldn't quite suppress a smile.

"No, mate. She'll let you have it."

"This feels like a trap," Tonks told them, and Kingsley nodded his agreement.

"Two of us should go in and take care of Goyle," Ron proposed. "Harry and I. Both of you should keep back to see if the trap closes around us." Tonks looked at him in surprise.

"You never did play chess against Ron, did you?" Harry asked her.

"It's the two pawns gambit," Ron told her, suddenly feeling quite ridiculous explaining strategy to two Aurors.

"And what usually happens to the two pawns?" Shacklebolt asked him pointedly.

"If they had wands and were as good at stunning spells as Harry and I are, nothing," Ron answered.

"It's not a bad idea, Kingsley," Tonks admitted. "Any trap they've set will be stronger than Goyle, and this leaves us free to deal with it. When they make it through, they can grab Hermione and Portkey out of here. They'd have surprise on their side. It's our best chance."


	17. The Rescue

Harry and Ron had reached the far side of the cabin, and stood next to each other with their backs flat against the wood. Ron checked the Fidelius Orb one last time, and it glowed a dark forest green. 

"I'll go left, you go right. Count down from twenty as we start to walk. When you get to zero, come around the corner. We'll both try to take him out. If either of us knocks him down, I'll stay out there to keep an eye on him and you go inside after Hermione," Harry whispered. 

"Right. Good luck, Harry."

"You too, Ron."

They began to walk down the sides of the cabin, and Ron counted backward from twenty in his head as he walked. Ron looked up at the window, and saw the glass shattered and hanging from it in shards. She must have had to blast it to give Hedwig a way out with her letter.

If the window had been magically locked, the door probably would be as well. He continued to count backwards, thinking of spells to use on Goyle or the door. He reached the corner on his count of four.

He could try _Alohamora_ to open the door, but they'd have to deal with Goyle first.

Three.

He should probably disarm Goyle, as he knew from dueling with Harry that he was likely to open with _Stupefy_ or _Impedimenta_. Ron smiled to himself. Goyle would never know what hit him.

Two.

She had to be all right. She just had to be.

One.

He took a deep breath, shifted his grip on his wand, and waited.

" _Expelliarmus_!" he shouted, pointing his wand at Goyle as he came around the corner. 

Harry appeared on the other side, and he shouted, " _Stupefy_!"

Ron's spell disarmed Goyle, but as he dropped to his knees to retrieve his wand, Harry's stunner went right over Goyle's head. 

" _Accio Goyle's wand_!" Ron shouted.

" _Stupefy_!" Harry repeated, and this time his aim was dead on. Goyle dropped heavily to the ground in a heap at their feet.

Ron turned his attention to the door as Harry conjured ropes from his wand and began to bind Goyle. 

" _Alohamora_!" Ron said, but the door failed to budge. It was likely bound, probably with the _Colloportus_ spell Harry had taught them in one of their very first DA meetings. Ron knew none of the simpler spells would work against it.

" _Finite Incantatem_!" Harry said, leaning over the unconscious Goyle. The door shuddered, but didn't open.

"Almost, Harry." Ron said. "Let's try it together." 

"Right."

" _Finite Incantatem_!" they shouted in unison. The edges of the door glowed gold for a moment, and then returned to normal.

" _Alohamora_!" Ron said again, and he breathed a sigh of relief as the door flew open. He blinked, trying to adjust his eyes to the darkness inside the room. He could make out two figures inside the room. They were bound, and neither of them were moving.

Ron's breath caught in his throat. He entered the room, not caring anymore if he was walking into a trap. 

" _Lumos_ ," Ron said, and his wand cast a glow over the inside of the cabin. Hermione was tied up and lying motionless on her side, but Ron could see the gentle rise and fall of her chest as she breathed. To her left, Ron saw Lupin, similarly bound. He had several wounds, one on his temple, each encrusted with blood.

" _Enervate_ ," Ron said, pointing his wand at Hermione. He repeated the spell for Lupin, and both of them began to stir.

He kneeled next to Hermione and kissed her. Her eyes fluttered open, then widened with shock.

"Ron! What are you doing here?"

"Saving you, looks like."

"It's not safe here."

"That's why I didn't come alone, Hermione." 

"The tree. It has to be destroyed."

Lupin coughed, kicking dust up from the floor.

"And he needs to see a Healer, right away. He's really hurt," Hermione said, a growing worry in her voice.

"It's all right, Hermione. We're going to get you out of here. Both of you. Dumbledore and Moody are taking care of that...thing, out there. That tree, it's awful. I can feel how evil it is."

Hermione nodded. "It's very powerful. Every time they feed it, it just gets stronger."

"They'll destroy it—because of your work." He looked at her in admiration. "We would never have known without you, and Beauxbatons would have been destroyed." Ron stood, muttered a spell, and released Hermione and Lupin from their bindings.

"Ron!" Harry's voice carried inside the cabin as he poked his head in. "We've got trouble. Someone's coming. Kingsley and Tonks are on their way to deal with it."

"Right," Hermione said, getting unsteadily to her feet. "They'll need help, then."

"Hermione," Ron said, incredulously. "You were just unconscious. I don't even think you have a wand."

"That's easily remedied. That great, hulking git is still outside, isn't he? I hope the two of you covered him with boils." Hermione knelt in the doorway and began to go through the pockets of Goyle's robes. On her third try, she triumphantly held her wand in the air.

"Hermione, I have a Portkey. I want you to take it back to Hogwarts, and take Lupin with you. You said it yourself, he needs medical attention. I think you could do with a spot of it too." Ron looked her in the eyes, trying to convince her to get to safety.

"I'm not going anywhere until that tree is destroyed," Hermione said, determinedly. "And you heard Harry. There are more Death Eaters coming. I have something to settle with them."

"Harry and I will stay. We don't have time to argue, Hermione."

"You're right. Let's go." Hermione tried to push past Ron, who stopped her with his arm.

"Ron!" Harry called from just outside the door. "It's Bellatrix! I'm going!"

Hermione looked at Ron with grave concern. "Harry will get himself killed trying to get revenge for Sirius, Ron. We have to go with him."

"Ron, Hermione," Lupin called, pulling himself to his feet.

"Professor Lupin! You're too hurt. Hermione will take you back to Hogwarts," Ron told him, earning a hard look from Hermione.

"We have to stop Harry. He can't go after Bellatrix Lestrange alone," Lupin said, struggling to talk.

"He won't be alone. Ron and I are going with him. Ron, give him your Portkey."

Ron sighed, and realized he couldn't afford to fight Hermione any longer. Every second they delayed was dangerous for Harry.

"Dumbledore and Moody are here, along with Tonks and Kingsley Shacklebolt. We'll be fine, Professor Lupin. The return Portkey to Hogwarts is in my pocket. Take it," Ron told him.

"We can handle things here," Hermione added, and she turned and walked through the door.

"Please, take the Portkey," Ron pleaded. "I can't go after Harry and Hermione until you do, and they might get themselves killed out there." 

Lupin gave him a long, frustrated look, and then reached into Ron's front robe pocket. Ron felt Lupin's hand close around the stone, and then he was gone.

Ron turned and ran from the cabin, sprinting after Hermione. He looked over Hermione's shoulder and saw Tonks and Shacklebolt in a pitched duel with Bellatrix. Curses and hexes flew from all three wands, deflecting away and hitting the ground, kicking up dirt and grass. Harry was running at full speed, his wand held out in front of him. Ron wondered what Harry planned to do when he reached Sirius's murderer, but he couldn't believe Harry meant to stun her and turn her over to the ministry.

They were backing Bellatrix up toward the Tree of Blood, and Ron could see Moody and Dumbledore around it in the distance. They were casting some kind of spell that Ron couldn't hear, and the tree had begun to glow a sickening greenish-red.

" _Rictusempra! Furnunculus! Impedimenta! Cuspisecui! Incendio! Capictus! Locomotor Mortis!_ " Harry sent spell after spell at Bellatrix, several before he was close enough to have a hope of connecting.

Plume after plume of different colored jets of light issued from the tip of Harry's wand. Most of them bounced harmlessly away from Bellatrix as she matched Harry's offensive spells with defense spells of her own. 

Kingsley and Tonks both fell to the ground with two quick spells from Bellatrix's wand. Ron could tell that Kingsley was injured. His wand stood straight up in the grass about five feet away from his hand. Tonks stood, shakily, regained her own wand, and turned to run after Bellatrix and Harry.

Bellatrix smiled as she cast a very strong Shield Charm to protect herself. The air around her shimmered as numerous spells deflected harmlessly away.

"You're quite the young dueler, Potter," she taunted. "But you're nowhere near the wizard my cousin was." Harry's aim grew worse as he reacted to her words. "That's right, Potter. Sirius was twice the wizard you'll ever be, and he still couldn't best me. I wish you could have seen his face when I killed him. I'll cherish that image of him for the rest of my very long life, child."

Ron and Hermione reached Harry's side. Hermione immediately began to join Harry in casting offensive spells. Hermione's spells focused on restraining or knocking out Bellatrix, while Harry seemed to want to cause her a great deal of pain.

"I know you want to kill her, mate," Ron whispered to Harry. "But that's too easy. Let's make her face up to her crimes. Let's see her put away again, this time, for good."

Tonks joined them, throwing a fourth set of spells toward Bellatrix and her Shield Charm.

"Hello, niece. How lovely to have the opportunity to make you writhe in pain, after I've killed this pitiful group of students. Is this truly the best Dumbledore can send to fight me?"

The incantations for each of the Unforgivable Curses echoed inside Ron's mind. Ron knew that if he was thinking about using one, Harry certainly would be as well.

"Stay calm, Harry. She can't hold that Shield Charm forever. Just don't do anything you'll regret later," Ron told him, trying to convince himself as much as Harry.

Tonks overheard him, and added, "She deserves nothing less than an Unforgivable Curse, Harry, I know. But in the end, it would hurt you more than it would hurt her."

Harry paused for the first time from his litany of spells, and Ron could tell Harry was trying to make his decision.

Bellatrix laughed, and it was a sharp, unpleasant sort of noise. "Niece, none of you have the power _or_ the courage." Bellatrix pulled back her wand, and the shield dropped for a moment. She pointed her wand at Hermione, and shouted, " _Crucio_!" A choked sob ripped from Hermione's throat, and she dropped to the ground beside Ron. Bellatrix restored her shield, and roared with laughter.

Ron launched himself at Bellatrix before he could stop himself. He held out his wand, yelling, " _Incendio_ " just as he was about to connect with her shield. Fire spread over the charm protecting her, but it didn't deflect away from it. 

Ron heard Tonks shout, " _Expelliarmus_!" and the spell got through the weakened Shield Charm. Bellatrix's wand flew out of her hand, and Ron tackled her and pushed her into the ground, his hands at her throat.

"Ron! Get back!" Tonks yelled, but he had no intention of releasing Bellatrix. "I mean it, Ron. We have to make sure—" Bellatrix pawed the ground next to her, looking for her wand. Ron could see how close she was to regaining her wand, but he still couldn't make himself release his hold on her neck. 

" _Stupefy_!" Harry shouted, and everything went black.


	18. Laurus Cruento

"Ron!" he heard, but the voice sounded so far away. " _Enervate_!"

He blinked his eyes, awakening rapidly. He could almost remember what he'd been doing before he found himself here. His vision cleared, and he saw the field. It all flooded back to him, and he looked feverishly around for Bellatrix.

"She's gone, Ron. Tonks and Kingsley took her to the ministry," Harry told him. "I thought I was the one who wanted to kill her."

"Ron, if you ever do anything foolish like that again," Hermione began, and then she threw her arms around him.

"Look at that, Ron," Harry said, pointing at the tree.

Ron looked, and saw that the tree still glowed green, but you could barely see the red in it now.

Moody and Dumbledore were standing around the trunk, and Ron listened to the spell. " _Laurus mortis, laurus letum, laurus cruento. Libero mundus. Redeo atrum._ " The two men repeated it over and over.

"What does it mean?" Ron asked, guessing that Hermione would know.

Hermione released Ron from her embrace and listened. "As far as I can tell, it means, _Tree of death, tree of ruin, tree of blood. Release this world. Return to the dark._ "

"Can we help them?" Ron asked.

"We might be able to," Hermione answered, and Ron pulled himself to his feet. He put out a hand to help Hermione up, and she took it. Even with his help, though, she stumbled as she tried to stand.

"I'll go. You're both still recovering," Harry told them, trying to look stern.

"If you're going, we're going," Hermione answered, stubbornly.

"Hermione, you can barely stand. And Ron, you were out cold until a moment ago," Harry told them.

"Don't be ridiculous, Harry. We'll be fine." Hermione began walking toward the tree, leaving both boys, open-mouthed, behind her.

Ron grinned at Harry. "Guess we'd better go after her, eh?"

Ron listened to the spell as they walked, trying to memorize it. His mind was racing with everything that had already happened, and it was difficult to block it out and just concentrate on the spell. Harry was trying to learn it as well, mumbling the words under his breath, shaking his head whenever he'd miss one. Harry finally got it right all the way through, and Ron hoped he could keep it all straight himself.

Hermione had already added her voice to Dumbledore's and Moody's. Her wand pointed toward the tree, and her hair was whipping around her face in the cold winter wind. He could feel how powerful she was, how much stronger the spell was now that she'd joined it. He felt a swell of gratitude for Harry, Tonks, and Kingsley for helping him to rescue her.

Ron finally felt ready to join in the spell himself. He pointed his wand at the tree and began to chant the spell. He could feel a power running through him, binding him to the other casters of the spell. He could hear all of their voices joined into one in his mind, and he no longer had to consciously think of the words he was trying to speak.

He was dimly aware of Hermione and Harry on either side of him, and he could hear their voices within the cacophony inside his head. Moody's voice ran underneath theirs, his deep tones supporting the others. Dumbledore's voice was everywhere, and Ron's chest shook with the power of it. 

He watched the tree as bark began to grow around its trunk again, spiraling toward the sky. The tree's branches, which had hung low and heavy over the ground, lifted and began to sway in the wind. The leaves shrank and disappeared, and the tree would have looked normal again if it hadn't been for the green glow that still enveloped it.

The words of the spell echoing in his mind stopped abruptly, and Ron fell to his knees. Hermione dropped next to him, and Ron struggled to get to his feet so he could help her. Harry held out a hand to each of them, and they both stood with his help.

"Weasley! Potter!" Moody bellowed a moment later. Ron looked at him as he hobbled toward them. "I thought we told you to leave after you found Miss Granger, here."

"Yes sir, you did," Harry answered him. Ron held his breath, feeling the anger rise in him as he waited to be told off.

"Thank Merlin you don't listen to old men like me. I don't think we could have finished it without you three," Moody gave them a lopsided grin as his magical eye whirled in its socket.

"We found Lupin with Hermione," Ron told Moody. "I let him use my Portkey."

"Hermione, what about the other researchers and Aurors who were with you and Lupin?" Moody asked.

"I'm not sure where the others are," Hermione added, grimly. "When Lupin and I got away after the Death Eaters tracked us down the first time, we got separated from the rest of the group. I haven't seen any of them since."

Moody looked grave for a moment, and Hermione dropped her head.

"All right. The three of you, use Potter's Portkey. Get back to the school and make sure Remus gets whatever medical attention he needs." He looked all of them up and down. "And you all may as well check yourselves into the infirmary while you're at it. Make sure you're all right." 

"If you're going to look for the others, I want to come with you," Hermione insisted.

"We're not, not right away. We need to speak to Remus first. But we'll track them down, I promise you that," Moody told her, gently patting her shoulder. "Get moving, now." Moody shuffled away from them, back toward Dumbledore, who had moved forward to inspect the tree.

Ron, Harry and Hermione looked at their headmaster, who gave them a smile and a nod of his head in return.

"Okay. Each of you grab my shoulder. I'll use the Portkey and get us out of here," Harry said.


	19. The Infirmary

"I simply can't believe that the two of you left and didn't tell me," Ginny wailed, speaking so loudly that Madam Pomfrey came over to quiet her.

"Miss Weasley, for the third time, if you cannot keep your voice down, I'll be forced to ask you to leave," Madam Pomfrey said, giving Ginny a stern look.

"I'm sorry," Ginny apologized. "But really, Ron, Harry. Couldn't you have come to get me?"

"Ginny, we're back. Hermione's back, and we're all fine. I'm sure you would have been great help if you'd been there, but we did fine, even without you." Ron told her, sitting up in his bed. "Besides, Mum would kill me if she knew I'd taken you straight into a pack of Death Eaters." Hermione raised her eyebrow at him. "Again," he added.

"So, what happened with that tree?" Ginny asked, and they all groaned in response.

"Ginny, we've told you a hundred times," Harry complained. "It's just as we said before. Dumbledore and Moody—"

"All right, you four. That's enough. Ron and Hermione need their rest," Madam Pomfrey told them, bustling over with a horrible-looking potion in each hand.

Harry got up from the foot of Ron's bed, which they'd pushed over close to Hermione's several times before Madam Pomfrey had finally allowed them to keep it there.

"Come on, Ginny. We'll see you later, Ron, Hermione," Harry said, putting both hands on Ginny's back and pushing her toward the door.

"We'll come back!" Ginny called. "After lessons!"

"Make that after dinner, Miss Weasley. They need time to rest," Madam Pomfrey corrected, and Ginny scowled as Harry pushed her from the room.

"How is Lupin?" Ron asked Madam Pomfrey as she adjusted Hermione's bedcovers.

"He's doing much better, now. Professor Snape has brewed him some Wolfsbane Potion, which will allow him to remain here at Hogwarts for his convalescence. I can't let you see him until after the full moon passes, just in case. Now, each of you, drink this. It will help you get some rest. I'll be by to check on you," she said firmly, and left them alone.

"Hermione, Lupin was about to turn into a werewolf before we came to get you, wasn't he?" Ron asked.

Hermione nodded. "I was beginning to wonder when you would show up." She gave him a small, nervous smile. "I knew the full moon was coming when we had to evacuate the farm. We had the Wolfsbane Potion with us, but it was confiscated when we were captured."

"Are you okay, Hermione?" he asked, haltingly. He didn't want to make her upset just when it was time for her to get some rest, but he couldn't wait to ask her any longer. "They didn't hurt you, did they?"

"Bellatrix—" Hermione began, but she paused and wrung her hands, and Ron got a terrible, sinking feeling in his stomach. "When she discovered I'd gotten a message out, she—she used the Cruciatus Curse on me." She looked uncertainly at Ron, and he wished he'd never made her tell him. "She was so angry. They couldn't leave the tree, so they decided to try to lay a trap for whoever came to rescue us."

"Hermione," he said, trying to soothe her. "I know—well, you're safe now. We've got Bellatrix and she can never hurt you again." He looked around for Madam Pomfrey and, seeing she wasn't there, got up and sat on the edge of Hermione's bed.

She reached out for his hand, and she looked away into the distance before she spoke. "All I could think about was how I would lose you forever if I let her drive me mad. It hurt so terribly, Ron. I just wanted it to stop. I knew if I just let go, I wouldn't be able to feel it anymore." She looked over at him. "But then I'd lose you I'd lose myself, and end up in St. Mungo's."

"Hermione, why did Lupin's Portkey take you to the tree?" Ron asked her, and her expression changed to one of anger.

"Someone at the farm must have given us up. The Portkey I was supposed to use if I had to evacuate must have been switched. Someone turned it into a Portkey that would take me directly into the hands of the Death Eaters."

"Hermione," he said, shocked. "You knew all of those people. They worked with you. I saw them, when you sent your letters."

"I know," she said, grimly. "And one of them is a Death Eater."

"We've got to tell Dumbledore!" Ron exclaimed, getting to his feet.

"Ron, don't worry about it. He already knows. He spoke to me about it when he was here earlier. You were resting. Dumbledore asked me to tell you he would be by to thank you when you would be awake to hear it."

"The Order, it's gotten too big, hasn't it? There are Death Eaters slipping through the cracks."

"I don't know, Ron," she said, looking tired. "I'm not sure how it happened."

Ron sat in silence for a moment, letting the feeling of betrayal sink in.

"Whoever did this wanted to get you killed. Or worse," he said, his voice rising with anger.

"I know," she said, simply. "They probably intended to use me to lure Harry to Voldemort."

Ron moved closer to her, pulling her away from the pillows propping her up and into his arms. "I'm never going to let anything like that happen to you."

"You might not be able to stop them, Ron. That's the reality. We can only try to protect each other, and Harry and everyone else. That's the best we can do."

"I love you, Hermione." He silently promised himself he'd never let her go into a dangerous situation like that ever again, not unless he was there with her. Together, they had a chance of protecting each other.

"I thought I'd never see you again," she told him, and her shoulders began to shake with the tears she'd been holding back since their return to Hogwarts. Ron held her as she cried, and they eventually fell asleep there, in each other's arms.

* * *

_Author's Notes:_

If you enjoyed this story, you might also like the H/G sequel, Undivided, which I will very soon be posting to TQP. Please consider running an eye over these author's notes, though, as I have a few people to thank and a few notes on my made up spells and things.

Last, and absolutely not least, I would like to thank my beta, kjcp. To each of you who mentioned the speed of my updates in your reviews, a great deal of that speed is thanks to kjcp, and her incredible turn-around time. She has been very helpful and insightful, and every change she suggested has made this story better than it would have been otherwise.

Thank you to TQP for being a great archive.   


Thanks to all of you, and thank you for sticking with me through all nineteen chapters.

And to anyone who was curious, in chapter 17, I made up two of the spells Harry tries to use on Bellatrix. Their incantations were cuspisecui and capictus, and they are made from some Latin words I married together. The first one is a mix of two words, secui (to cut) and cuspis (javelin). The second one is another mix of two words, ictus (bolt) and capio (to injure). Also, the Latin for the spell Dumbledore and the others used to restore the tree is also cobbled together from some Latin words. I'm sure the grammar is all wrong, but as it's a dead language, I didn't think I'd be getting too many complaints. If you've studied Latin and my use of it makes you cringe, please accept my apologies.


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